Death After Sorrow
by Foreverwolf
Summary: Something is wrong with Dean. Can Sam figure it out before it's too late? What will the discovery cost both boys? Does the answer lie in their past? Heavy spoilers in later chapters for up to season 3. HurtDean! AngstSam!
1. Chapter 1

AN: Lots of Dean angst, and some hard lessons learned for Sam. Set in Season 3. Big time Spoilers up to the deal. Enjoy!

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Death After Sorrow.

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Chapter 1

Sam couldn't stop the chuckle that came out of him as he watched his brother shake gore off of his hand.

Dean glared at him. "You think this is funny? If you hadn't lost the damn flare, I wouldn't have had to stick my hand in that thing!" Dean bitched.

Sam shook his head. "Aw, com'on. The image of you heroically lighting your hand on fire to kill the big bad is going to stick in her mind for a while," he teased.

Dean scrunched up his face in disgust. "Dude, she wasn't even hot. Besides, did you hear the pitch on that woman? I'm surprised it didn't do the job for me."

Sam nodded, his face turning serious as he reached for his brother's hand. "Is your hand burned?" He wasn't surprised when Dean pulled his hand out of reach.

"Nah. It died before the lighter fluid burned off. Getting a little scary, though, Sam. Another wendigo? Here? Something's up."

"Yeah, it's a little strange. But Bobby warned us not to assume anything now that the hellgate is opened. It's possible that too many demons moved into it's hunting territory, and it had to move on," Sam pointed out as they moved toward the Impala where the woman they had just rescued sat waiting for them.

"I'm telling you, I don't like it. And why the hell did Bobby send us on this one, anyway? Why couldn't he do it himself?"

"He was busy with another hunt. Activity has stepped up a little. We're all a little busy."

Dean nodded, accepting. "You deal with that shrieking banshee. I'm going to wash my hands in the creek."

Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean was already moving off. With a sigh, he walked the final steps to the car. Immediately he had his arms full of hysterical woman.

"Thank you! I thought for sure I was going to die!" she screeched.

Sam winced, but forced himself to smile. "It's no problem. It's dead now, so you won't have to worry about it anymore. We're just waiting for my brother to clean up, then we'll take you back home. I'm sure your family has been worried about you." More likely, though, they were enjoying the peace and quiet, Sam thought to himself.

He tuned her out as she started going on about her oh so loving family, and turned his thoughts to this past hunt. He frowned a little. He'd known Dean to be reckless in the past, but these days, he was just down right scary. It was almost like when their father had died, except without that edge, that desperation that had permeated every breath his brother had taken.

But dousing his hand in lighter fluid, lighting it on fire and shoving it into the Wendigo's soft stomach? What the hell had Dean been thinking? They shouldn't have needed to get that close to it. Granted, Sam _had_ dropped the flare gun, but still, Dean should have made a play for the gun instead of improvising. Replaying the hunt, Sam realized that the Wendigo had wrapped it's hand around Dean's other shoulder as the flaming fist caught his insides on fire.

Shit. Dean was probably hurt. And hadn't mentioned a damned thing. Not for the first time, Sam cursed the stoicism that their father had forced Dean to adopt. He glanced at his watch, and thought that Dean had either been gone far too long for his liking, or he had reached the end of his limits with the still nameless, rambling woman.

"I'm sorry, I have to go check on my brother," Sam interrupted, then sped off without waiting for an answer. Reaching the creek, he was surprised to see Dean sitting completely still, staring into the water. Irritated that nothing was wrong and Dean was only taking his own sweet time, Sam's hand landed a little heavier than it should have on his brothers shoulder.

Dean cried out in surprise, jerking forward and would have landed in the water if it hadn't been for Sam's steady hand. "What the hell, Dean?" Sam demanded, his earlier irritation once again replaced with concern.

Dean shook his head, as if to rid himself of something, rebalanced himself, then shrugged off Sam's hand. "Get tired of her already?" he tried to tease, but missed the right tone.

Sam looked at his hand, and realized it had spots of blood on it. Moving his eyes to the shoulder he had just touched, he saw spots of dark red. "You're hurt." And if it came as more of an accusation than a question, he wouldn't apologize for it. Winchester stubbornness, of which Dean already had a healthy dose, aside, Sam was getting a little tired of always finding out the hard way that Dean had been injured during a hunt. If _he'd_ have pulled that crap, Dean would have taken a strip off of him a mile wide.

Dean shrugged again. "It's nothing. Doesn't even need stitches." Sam sighed, thankful, at least, that Dean hadn't tried to use his signature 'I'm fine' line. "Come on, we should get Pitch Lady home."

"Pitch Lady?" Sam laughed as he followed his brother back to the car.

"You get a name from her yet?" Dean asked.

"Ah, no. Couldn't have if I wanted to. Which, honestly, I didn't," Sam admitted.

Dean nodded smartly. "Pitch Lady it is then."

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Sam sighed as he leaned back in his chair. They'd been doing research for an hour now, simply enjoying the silence of the motel room after dropping Pitch Lady off home and speeding off as quickly as possible. Rubbing his eyes to get rid of the black spots that staring at his laptop could sometimes give him, he glanced over to the bed where Dean was pouring over obits to find their next hunt, careful of his now bandaged shoulder.

His lips pressed tight in concern, Sam noticed that once again Dean had failed to touch his food. This had been an ongoing habit for the past week, and he was getting worried. Nightmares weren't normally a problem for Dean, or if they were, Sam didn't know about it. But lately, Dean's seemed not only frequent, but vicious.

Dean wouldn't talk to him about it either, just passed it off with a joke or ignored him completely. Both typical Dean behaviors, but- off, somehow. Sam couldn't put his finger on it, but something was wrong, and his brother wasn't sharing. He'd let it pass, thinking it had something to do with Dean's recent deal, but Dean seemed just fine about it. He'd smiled more since that deal than Sam ever remembered seeing, took life a little less seriously. If Sam hadn't known his brother so well, hadn't known it was a mask to hide whatever Dean was really feeling, he would have said his brother was... at peace.

Glancing back at his screen, Sam closed it. Maybe another hunt wasn't what they needed. Maybe they needed a break. Problem was, how was he going to get his workaholic brother to agree? Another typical Dean behavior when it came to his own problems. Why face what you can ignore?

"I can feel you staring at me. You wanna tell me what's on your mind?" Dean called, not looking up from the newspapers in front of him.

Sam scowled. One of these days, he was going to have to learn how Dean did that, seemed to read his mind without even looking at him. He'd always been quick to blame their intense training, and Dean's natural skill, but something told him it was more than that. "I think we need to head for Bobby's."

His brother looked up now, and frowned. "Why? Is there something going on in Dakota?"

"Yeah, time to breathe," Sam sighed. And time to find out what's going on with you, but he knew enough not to say that.

"Tell you what, no more Wendigo's or crazy Pitch Ladies," Dean offered with a grin.

Sam shook his head and sighed again. He had to play this just right. He might not be able to read Dean's mind, but in some things, his brother couldn't be more predictable. Hanging his head, he turned back to his computer. And counted. Five. Four. Three. Two-

"Sammy, are you okay?" Dean asked, rising from the bed.

"Yeah, Dean, I'm fine. Just a little tired." He hesitated for just a moment. "I could really use a break, that's all. We've been going non-stop since- well, for a while. We near screwed up this hunt. I just think it's time to slow down for a while."

He had to remind himself not to hold his breath as Dean's soul piercing eyes swept over him, looking for the truth, finding something he didn't like, then nodded. "You're right. Give Bobby a call and see if it's okay with him. We'll leave in the morning."

Sam nearly narrowed his eyes, wondering at Dean's easy capitulation, but decided not to call him on it. Dean could easily change his mind if he questioned, so Sam wisely let it be, dialing Bobby's cell as his eyes tracked Dean's movements around the room.

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Bobby scowled as he took in the boys on his doorstep. Sam had said they just needed some downtime, not that they would show up looking like death warmed over. Dean was a little pale and had dark circles that spoke of hard times on the road, while Sam kept glancing at his brother, as though afraid Dean was going to disappear if he took his eyes off of him.

"Boys," Bobby greeted, stepping aside to let them in. He wondered if the tension was just a byproduct of Dean's deal, or was there something else at work?

"Hey Bobby," Sam responded quietly.

"Not that I mind, but what brings you around these parts? Sam didn't get too specific on the phone," Bobby asked, following them into the house.

Dean turned to him and grinned, seemingly completely at ease in the hunters cluttered home. "Sammy here needed a break. Thought we'd come darken your doorstep for a while. Cash flow hasn't exactly been- flowing- lately."

Bobby frowned. Since when did Dean fail to get the cash they needed? He'd never seen Dean not produce money when it was needed, and Bobby knew from personal experience that he was damn creative in getting it.

He looked over at Sam for an answer, but found none. Those expressive eyes were glued to Dean, and showing more concern than even a moment ago. Okay, so he wasn't an idiot. This 'break' had less to do with Sam, and everything to do with Dean. He shrugged it off and let it go for now. There would be no point into trying to talk to the youngest Winchester until they had a moment alone.

It should be an interesting few days. "Well, while you're here, you can give me a hand. Been busy Hunting and have let a couple of the cars slide."

Dean grinned. "Sure, Bobby. Let's get started."

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In three days they were all caught up on Bobby's work, and Dean had started to work on the Impala. The atmosphere was light, and with the exception of the boys obvious lack of sleep, everything seemed to flow naturally. Sam, as per usual, had his nose in a book while they worked outside. Bobby was beginning to think, not for the first time, that Sam had over reacted in bringing Dean here.

Until today. Dean had made an error in replacing a part of the engine, and had needed Bobby's reminder of it. The kid knew that car inside and out. Mistakes like that just did not happen. Dean had been slightly flustered, but had passed it off with a joke, and gone into the house for a beer. Forty five minutes later, Dean still hadn't reappeared. Curious, Bobby went to find him.

He found him in the living room, sitting on the couch, eyes glued to something outside the window, a now warm beer at his feet. Bobby frowned as the oldest Winchester ignored him and continued to stare out the window. It wasn't like the young Hunter to be so unaware of his surroundings. Concerned, he moved forward to get Dean's attention, but was stopped when a hand grabbing his arm.

"Don't," Sam instructed. "He'll come out swinging and he'd never forgive himself for hurting you."

"He do this a lot?" Bobby asked. Then his confusion cleared. "It's why you came."

Sam sighed. "It wasn't this bad before we got here. This is his fourth bad bout since we came. It's almost like he fought it until he knew we were safe, and then let go."

Bobby nodded slowly, knowing Dean well enough to replace the 'we' with 'Sam'. "Do you know what it is?"

Sam shook his head, clearly frustrated. "If I didn't know better, I'd swear it was a hex. Except, we haven't faced any witches lately. There's no pattern to when it started, not that I could see anyway. But then, Dean's not the most forthcoming of people. I don't have a clear start date."

Bobby grunted at Sam. 'Not exactly forthcoming' was the understatement of the year. "Dean couldn't tell you?"

Sam shrugged. "I'm not sure he knows it's happening. He gets lost like this, and then suddenly comes out of it, wondering where the time went. When I ask him about it, he just grins at me. The two times I've tried to bring him out of it myself, he's come around swinging. The first time, he nearly killed me before he realized what was happening. Even then, he just joked it off, and never mentioned it again."

"You're right. It sounds like a hex. How long do these stints usually last?"

"They're getting longer. When I first started to notice, they were only a few seconds. He'd just come out of it with a start. I wouldn't have even noticed if it weren't for the other signs."

"Other signs?"

Sam sighed. "Bobby, have you seen him eat since we arrived?"

The older Hunter immediately opened his mouth to voice a joke about never seeing Dean without food in his hand or mouth, but shut it as he realized Sam was right. Dean had barely touched the food on his plate at meal times, and he'd never seen the young man raid his refrigerator. "Damn. I don't know how I missed it."

Sam smiled apologetically at their friend. "It's easy to miss what Dean doesn't want you to see. He's having nightmares, too, and they're getting worse. I can't bring him out of them anymore. And he never goes back to sleep after them. Bobby, Dean never had nightmares."

"Don't be daft, Sam. You can't do what we do and not have nightmares. It's just like you said, you only see what he wants you to." And damned if that didn't just drive Bobby wild at times. He knew just who to blame, too. "Anything else?"

"His behavior is changing. He's erratic and reckless. He actually lit his hand on fire and punched it into the gut of a Wendigo instead of grabbing the gun. He's moody, too. It's almost like right after Dad died."

Bobby hesitated, but knew they couldn't avoid the obvious connection forever. "Sam, I hate to be the one point this out, but _you_ died a couple of weeks ago. You were dead for three days, and nothing I could say or do would bring him out of it. He told me to let the world end, that he'd given enough. He meant it, too. I've never seen eyes so cold and lifeless. He was dead, too, Sam. His body just didn't know it yet. You don't come out of that deep an abyss as easily as he made it look."

Sam ran a hand through his hair. It was one thing his brother refused to talk about. Dean seemed content to take that particular memory to Hell with him. "Yeah, I thought about that. But look at him, Bobby. You can't tell me that's just grief?"

Bobby frowned. _Just_ grief? Christ, Dean's soul had been gone the moment his younger brother stopped breathing. There had been nothing left of the brother the youngest Winchester had known and loved. He'd gone with Sam, leaving an empty shell in his place. _Just grief_ didn't _begin_ to cover what Dean had gone through for those three days. "You ever hear tell of the straw that broke the camel's back?"

"Sammy?" The soft plea from the window immediately ended their conversation as Sam found himself crouched in front of his brother without realizing he'd moved at all. Bobby noticed the young man was very close, but was careful not to actually touch his brother.

"I'm here, Dean. You ready to come back?" Sam soothed gently, in a voice that the older man had only ever heard directed at the older Winchester.

But the green eyes were still lost, still looking out at something the rest of them couldn't see. Bobby moved cautiously closer to the two boys. He wasn't going to underestimate the dangerous young man in front of him. Accepting Sam into his personal space, no matter his condition, was second nature to the protective older brother. Bobby didn't dare think for a moment that acceptance would be extended to him, not without Dean being fully aware. He was also careful not to get close enough to Sam that Dean might subconsciously interpret him as a threat. He wasn't ready to die just yet.

Despite these precautions, those green eyes turned on him and flashed their warning. Even lost somewhere, Dean was still protecting his younger brother. "Easy, Dean, I'm not gonna hurt him," Bobby muttered, immediately backing off a little.

Sam frowned as he took in the aborted movement. "Bobby? What are you doing?"

Bobby snorted. "Boy, I get any closer to you and I'm as like to lose my hand, if not my life."

"Dean knows you're no threat," Sam stated. "Relax, Bobby. He's not even aware we're here."

"Not consciously, no. But somewhere deep inside, he knows someone is near you. He's in deep, Sam, wherever he is, but don't you dare think he's not aware of you."

Sam looked back to his brother, and discovered Dean's eyes were sharper than they had been, silently warning Bobby away from Sam. Curious to see if his brother would respond to him, Sam reached out and lightly touched Dean's knee. There was no reaction. "Bobby, can we try something? Can you touch me?"

"Are you crazy? Sam, that's not really Dean. He's running purely on instinct, and right now that instinct is telling him I'm a threat to you. Without the ability to recognize me as a friend, which he obviously doesn't, I'm going to safely keep my distance."

Sam grinned. "Don't tell me you're _afraid_ of him? Of _Dean_?"

Bobby scowled. "Boy, you don't live long in this business by being dumb. Dean was damn near a perfect shot before you could even run. I've sparred with him. If he ever seriously went after me, he could hand me my ass on a platter. Going anywhere near you right now is suicide."

Sam chewed his bottom lip, conceding the point. But still he wanted to know how much of his brother was with them. Would Dean tell them anything in this unprotected state? He hadn't responded to verbalizations before, but maybe he would now that his senses were at least semi aware?

"Dean? Do you know where you are?" Sam asked gently, keeping his voice soothing. There was no response, and Dean still hadn't taken those blank eyes from Bobby. "Bobby, you're the key to getting through to him. We have find out what we can."

Bobby threw up his hands in resignation. The sudden move provoked the lost hunter enough that before either of them knew what was happening, Dean had Bobby by the throat and pinned against the wall. Stunned, it took Sam a moment to realize that his brother wasn't fooling around. He'd crush Bobby's windpipe in a matter of minutes if he didn't do something.


	2. Purest of Motives

Chapter 2

AN: Oh wow. I was so nervous about posting this story! Thanks to all who read and reviewed, or who just read, for your support! Uh, try and stick with it, lol. Everything is leading up to an unusual ending, but it's going to be a bit of a journey! And for those few who have expressed a concern, this is NOT a deathfic!

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"Dean!" Sam shouted, grabbing his brothers arms, trying to pull them away from the older hunter, who was turning an interesting shade of red. "Let him go!"

Frustrated that he couldn't seem to penetrate Dean's fog, and very well aware that he was running out of time, Sam cried out his anger and shoved at his brother as hard as he could.

It was like someone flipped a switch. One minute Bobby was desperately trying to dislodge Dean's hands, the next he was on his knees, gasping, while the young hunter appeared to be unconscious.

"Bobby! Are you okay?" Sam asked, even as he knelt next to check his brothers pulse.

"I'm fine," Bobby croaked. "How is he?"

"His pulse is a little fast, but his breathing is steady. He's never done this before." Sam moved his hand to cup Dean's cheek, trying to wake him gently. Instead, he frowned. "He's feverish."

"Has that happened before?" Bobby asked, his voice still raspy, but his concern taking over his own discomfort.

"No." The one word answer was clipped as worry for his brother took over Sam's interest in analyzing the situation. Whatever was happening to Dean was obviously getting worse. Damn his brother for not telling him sooner!

He felt the muscle spasm under his hand and looked up to see Dean blinking, as though the light hurt his eyes too much to keep them open. "Dean?"

"Sammy? What the hell?" Dean asked, trying pushing himself upright, immediately regretting it as the room spun. He settled back onto the floor.

"Easy there," Bobby called. "Don't let him up too fast."

Sam nodded, and saw Dean take in his surroundings, his green eyes sharp and focused at last. He watched as a frown formed.

"Bobby? What are you doing on the floor? Did something attack us?" His eyes widening in horror, Dean pushed up against Sam's restraining hand, sitting up and latching onto his brothers arm. "Sam? Are you okay?"

"What do you remember?" Sam asked, avoiding the question. No, he wasn't okay. And he wouldn't be until they figured out what was happening to his older brother.

"I was tuning my girl, then came inside for a cold beer." But he wouldn't meet Sam's eyes.

"Nothing else?" Sam hinted, knowing his brother well enough to know that something was niggling at him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, and was therefore willing to push it aside until later.

Dean shook his head slightly, being careful not to shake too hard. He was still dizzy, and the room hadn't yet decided to settle into one place. He did a mental inventory. He had a massive headache blossoming, and his muscles ached the way they sometimes did after a fight. His hands were cramping too, as if he'd had a death grip on something.

Looking at Bobby, who was only now slowly pushing himself to his feet, Dean saw the red marks around the man's neck. It didn't take a genius to add everything up. They'd been attacked, all right, but not by any monster. By _him_. Why? Was he possessed? Would that explain the lost time? The blackouts? The weird dreams?

"Sam," he started slowly, raking his eyes over his brother. "Are you sure you're all right?" He didn't think he'd hurt his brother, but if it was a demon possessing him, then he wanted to be sure.

Sam nodded. "I'm fine, Dean. A little worried about you, actually."

Dean looked back and forth between the two of them. Their expressions were of concern, and Sam especially seemed more than a little freaked. Eager to soothe them both, Dean for once found himself without any way to do it. He couldn't muster up a joke, at the moment, not if he had been the one to hurt Bobby. "Help me up, Sammy, then I'll grab an icepack for Bobby's neck. You guys can explain what happened."

Sam did as he was asked, despite his instincts that Dean should stay lying down for a few more minutes. He'd carefully checked for signs of a concussion, Dean had hit the floor pretty hard, but had found none. The warmth he had felt earlier seemed to be dissipating quickly. He watched as his brother disappeared down the hall to the bathroom.

"Do you think he really doesn't know?" Bobby asked, drawing Sam's eyes away from his brother's back.

"I don't know. He knows _something_ is up, and I think he made the connection that he hurt you somehow. But he doesn't have all the pieces yet, so he won't mention it. As guilty as he feels about what happened to you, he won't admit to anything until it becomes a danger on the job," Sam growled bitterly.

Bobby's expression softened. "He's only trying to protect you," he pointed out.

"No, selling his soul to bring me back, _that_ I'll allow under the 'Protect Sam' Banner. Not telling me something is wrong is just Dean being stubborn. Bobby, he _attacked_ you! I've only ever seen him move that fast on a hunt," Sam huffed. "And only when we're in danger."

Bobby wisely kept his opinion to himself. For all of Sam's devotion to his brother, he just wouldn't allow himself to see the truth. Lost as he was, Dean's first reaction had been to eliminate the perceived threat, not to himself, but to his brother. John Winchester had well and truly screwed his oldest son. Dean's conditioning ran deeper than even he had suspected. Deep enough to overcome whatever spell or hex currently had Dean in its grip.

"Dean, maybe you should lie down for a while," Sam suggested as his brother returned with the promised ice pack.

"Dude, lay off. I'm fine. What the hell happened?"

Bobby took the pack and carefully placed it around his neck, feeling how deep the bruising would be by tomorrow. "You came in for a beer, and didn't come back out. When I came to find you, you were staring off into space. You wouldn't react, even to Sam."

Dean frowned. "So how did that happen?" He gestured absently at the older hunter, but still refused to meet his eyes.

"For some reason, you decided Bobby was the enemy," Sam took up. "You moved so fast I didn't have a chance to stop you. Then you passed out, and when you woke up, the trance was over."

Dean shook his head. "There has to be something more. Bobby's family. I wouldn't have attacked him unless I-" he stopped as his eyes widened. Noticing Sam's curious expression, and feeling uncomfortable under Bobby's knowing look, he cleared his throat. "So, am I possessed, or what? I don't _feel_ possessed."

"We don't know. We could try an exorcism, but I doubt it would do any good. This looks more like a hex. Sam says you haven't come up against witches lately, though."

Dean shrugged. "That doesn't mean one didn't target me. I mean, come on, we've pissed off a lot of big bads in our day. It's not outside the realm of possibility."

"Then why not target me too?" Sam pointed out.

Dean grinned and slapped his brother on the shoulder. "It's the puppy eyes, Sammy. All natural protection from anything female."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Bobby rolled his eyes and walked away from the now bickering brothers. Those boys would be the death of him one of these days, he was sure of it. Once out of sight, he allowed himself a sad smile. He wouldn't have it any other way, but fuck if it didn't come with a heavy price tag.

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Dean groaned to himself as he felt his brothers eyes on him again. It was getting damned irritating, having Sam and Bobby keeping such close tabs on him. Hell, he couldn't even go out into the yard without feeling their eyes on him.

And the Impala was running out of things to tune. He'd already disassembled, cleaned and rebuilt the engine, and her under carriage was as smooth as skin. He couldn't stay out here hiding from them for much longer. A fact he suspected they knew.

He ran a tired hand over his face, not caring about the grease that smeared as he did so. Okay, so yeah, he'd been acting a little weird lately, but Sam and Bobby had both tried every anti-hex mix they could either think of or discover. He'd had more gross concoctions poured down his throat in the last two days then he even wanted to think about. It was time for this to end.

Grabbing a rag to wipe his hands, he called out to his younger brother, knowing Sam was, as always lately, within earshot. He had to hide his annoyance as Sam obediently came outside to meet him.

"What's up?"

"Man, we've been sitting here for a while. I think it's time to get back to work. The Impala is as right as she's ever gonna be, and I'm growing roots," Dean huffed, unable to hide his true frustration at their immobility.

Sam hesitated. "Dean, look, I know it sucks, but we need to figure out what's going on with you."

"I just told you what's going on with me. I'm gonna lose my edge if we stay here playing happy family for much longer. You said you needed a break, and you had it. Now it's time to go," Dean insisted.

"Dean-" Sam tried again, knowing it was already a lost battle.

Dean slammed down the rag. "No, Sammy, not this time. Find us a hunt," he ordered, moving away before Sam had a chance to object again.

Sam watched him enter the house, chewing his bottom lip. He had known this was coming. It just wasn't in Dean to stay somewhere for so long with no purpose. He had latched on to the car, but now that it was done, there was nothing left. His brother had given him a chance to find out what was going on, and he had now run out of time.

Frustrated, Sam entered the house and turned on his computer, listening as he heard the shower running. They weren't ready for this, and he knew it. But no force on earth was going to convince his brother of that.

Bobby walked in and found Sam frowning at his laptop, as though he well and truly wanted to kill it, viciously stabbing at the keys. He shook his head as he approached. "So he's laid it down, has he?"

Sam looked up. "He wants us back in the game."

"Well, son, you tried. It took longer than I thought it would have. At least that's something."

"Bobby, you can't seriously agree with him? We still don't know what's wrong with him, or how to fix it. Going on a hunt now is stupid and dangerous. Neither of which, under normal circumstances, Dean usually is," Sam growled. "It just proves he's not ready for this."

"Men like him and your Daddy, Sam, they can't be pinned down for long. Especially since Dean's clock is ticking. He gave you the time he could, and it wasn't enough. No point in fighting it. You'll never win," Bobby shrugged. It was a lesson he had learned the hard way, long ago.

"I have to. He definitely won't," Sam muttered bitterly.

"Sam, Dean _can't_ fight for himself. He doesn't know how. And if you haven't figured that much out for yourself by now, then you need to ask yourself just what it is you're fighting for!"

Stunned at the unexpected rebuke, Sam blinked. "Bobby-"

"Listen to me! It's men like him that are gonna win this war, because theirs is a motive more pure than revenge or guilt. For those few, it comes down to what's right, and what's wrong. Sitting here wasting what little time he has left when he could be out there making sure he takes as many of those rat bastards with him as he can is wrong."

"I know that, Bobby, but he has to look after himself, first," Sam insisted.

"Well that won't happen, Sam. And there's no point in wishing it different. When you died, it shattered what little was left of him. Those eyes of his, they'll haunt my dreams for the rest of my life. Getting you back gave him life again, gave him a purpose. We may not like it, and it may be plain scary to know, but it is what it is, and we just have to accept that."

"I don't want to accept it," Sam hissed.

Bobby reached over and placed his hand on the boys shoulder, his tight grip making the younger man wince. "For once, Sam, just this once, it's not about what you _want_. It's about what he _needs_. It's about damn time someone took that into account."

He let go and huffed into the kitchen, bracing his arms on the sink. Looking up, he shook his head. "That boy deserves better than what you set him up for, John, and you'd better hope it doesn't destroy them both!" he growled.

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"You're kidding me, right? That's the best you could come up with?" Dean asked incredulously, looking over the papers Sam had given him on his return from the shower.

"We've looked into less," Sam insisted. He'd given Bobby's uncharacteristically long speech a lot of thought, and decided he was right. Dean _was_ going stir crazy. But he needed time to get to the bottom of what was happening with his brother. They couldn't do that if they were caught up in their typical hack and slash. So he'd gone looking with two set criteria in mind. One, that it was close. Two, that it needed more investigation then their usual salt and burn solution.

" 'Victim was found exsanguinated in their home residence at approximately seven am. Police have no leads, and are holding the autopsy results until the victim's family can be notified'. Okay, so a vampire."

Sam shook his head. "Nope. I hacked a copy of the police report. There wasn't a mark on the body."

Dean frowned. "How the hell does someone end up completely drained of blood without a mark?"

"You said you wanted a hunt."

"Dude, in a town called Faith?"

Sam nodded. "Population of less than 500 people. It's ranch land, lots of cattle and sheep. I've looked back over the years, and there have been five murders, all unsolved, all the same MO, in the past five years. Two years before those, there was a rash of cattle mutilations with similar results."

"But, come on- Really?"

Sam shrugged. "We could always stay here."

Dean threw the file back at him. "Pack up. We leave in the morning. Faith. Huh!" His mutterings followed him out of the house as he went to give the Impala one last check over.

Sam looked over to where Bobby was standing, shaking his head. "I know what you're trying to do, Sam, but the two of you will have this one in the bag in a week."

"Then that gives me one more week to work with. I'll take it. Bobby, about earlier-"

"No need to apologize, boy. Just keep it in mind. Hunting isn't about revenge for him, like it is for the rest of us. It's a part of who he is. Don't try to understand it, you can't. No more than he can understand why we need a motive to do what we do. Just accept it."

Sam nodded, turning back to the file he had put together, but found his mind wandering, going over what Bobby had said. It was true, he thought. Every Hunter got into the business somehow, usually for revenge over the death of a loved one. So where did that leave Dean? He had never shared their father's obsession over the demon that had killed their mother, nor Sam's over Jess's death. He had been programmed, like a missile, to seek out and destroy this particular demon. And had done so with a cold efficiency that would leave most military commanders panting for a soldier like that.

The words he had spoken, 'this is for our mother', had been the end of a quest that had never really been Dean's to begin with, despite the fact he had been the one to end it. Azazel had been a large shadow looming over their family, and in Dean's eyes, his greatest sin had been to cause those few he held dear pain. For that, Dean hated. Because it was evil, Dean hated. Because what it had done to his brother was wrong, Dean hated. Hated, but never obsessed, never willing to sacrifice any and all to achieve it's end.

Sam remembered their conversation the night they had ended, and started, the battle of their lives.

"_Come on, Sammy, would you please celebrate a little? We just killed _the_ big bad of our lives. Mission accomplished. Can't you even crack a smile?"_

"_At what cost, Dean? Your soul? You think it was an even trade?" Sam growled. He understood his brothers feelings. The crusade that had been the center of their entire lives was finally over. But now he had a new mission. He had to save his brother._

"_Yeah, Sammy, it was," Dean replied calmly. His blackened soul for his brothers life? Yep. Easiest deal he ever made. "I'm sorry you don't see that. But, it's done. There's no going back."_

"_Would you, even if you could?" Sam spit out, knowing the answer. Of course not. Not if it meant Sam losing his life. At the moment, he very much hated his brother for that knowledge. _

_They drove in silence for a while, before Dean pulled over to the side of the road. _

"_What are you doing?"_

"_I was going to ask you the same thing. You told me once, Sammy, that when this was all over, you'd go back to school. Well, it's over. Ole Yellow Eyes is dead. So do I take the next exit?" Dean asked seriously._

_Sam's eyes near bugged out of his head. "Dean, you know I can't do that!"_

"_Why not? It's over. Your vendetta is realized. Jess can rest in peace now, and so can our parents. Dad scrapped his way out of Hell to make sure it happened. Your life is your own now. So, I'll ask again. What are you doing?"_

"_I'm going to find a way out of this deal, Dean, that's what I'm doing. I'm going to save your ass, and then kick it for putting yourself in that position to begin with," Sam promised._

_Dean's expression was sad as he looked at his brother. "So it's another quest, is it? Another obsession? It's not going to work, Sam. This life will destroy you if you don't have a better reason than that. You said yourself, you're not one of us. I believe that. Take the peace that's being offered, because it won't come around again."_

"_Dean-"_

"_No. This is it. Decision time. Either you're a Hunter or you're Mr. Normal-apple-pie-life. You can't be both, you'll rip yourself apart."_

"_I can be whoever I want to be, Dean," Sam hissed, angry that his brother had targeted a little too close to home. _

"_Yeah, you can," Dean answered quietly. "And now you need to decide who that is."_

Sam remembered that Dean had driven out again without waiting for an answer, as if he had known what it would be. The conversation hadn't come up again, but Sam had acknowledged the truth, if only to himself. Even without Dean's deal, he couldn't be joe college again. He'd seen and done too much. Lost too much. He wasn't that guy anymore. Could never be again.

Whether he liked it or not, he was a Hunter. Always had been, he'd just refused to see it. But his brother had. And had forced him to face it. It had taken him a long time to forgive Dean for that.


	3. Hunting

AN: Build up mostly. Rita is based on a woman I met on my various travels. I liked her, and couldn't help but plan a character after her.

A few more pieces to the puzzle. Patience. Rome wasn't built in a day.

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Chapter 3

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The town of Faith turned out to be little more then a main street, one bed and breakfast, a grocer, a post office, and, of course, a pub. Which happened to be attached the the B&B. It was not a situation Sam was particularly thrilled with. They'd had to lay out cash for two separate rooms. Strict rules that there was to be no smoking, no drinking, no holes in the walls, and oh by the way, no gay sex, had been laid out by a woman who was on the wrong side of seventy.

"I'm starting to think maybe I should just go gay and accept it," Dean grinned as he dropped Sam's bag on his bed. He winced as he took in the bright pink flowers on the purple backdrop of the comforter, and the lilac wallpaper around them. His own room didn't look much different.

As light hearted as Dean's joke was, Sam knew that being separated was bothering his brother. Dean's habit of always taking the bed closest to the door had been thwarted, leaving the hunter with serious doubts as to his younger brother's security. Despite the fact that the over protection drove him up the wall most times, when he closed his eyes at night there was some security in knowing that whatever came through that door had to go through a pissed off Dean first.

"You keep working your way through every female population we come across, and you might not have much choice," Sam chuckled.

"That's not fair, Sammy," Dean answered smoothly. "I always leave a quarter for you, just in case you wake up possessed some day and want to have _fun_."

The pillow that Sam threw at him thumped the door as he closed it, wincing when he pictured trying to sleep on something hard enough to make a sound on wood. Looking down the daisy yellow hallway, Dean offered a silent prayer that they caught whatever this was fast.

"If I was ever going to go gay, this place would do it," Dean muttered, entering his own magenta room. Was there a handbook for little old ladies on how to completely destroy any amount of testosterone within a minimum amount of exposure that he had somehow missed? And was it sad that he suddenly missed their usual dingy haunts?

He carefully shoved their duffel bag under the bed, knowing that being nosy came with a small town, and doubled as of the age of fifty. The last thing they needed was the owner, Rita, finding a stash of weapons.

After doing so, he carefully checked his wallet. Bobby had loaned them some money, but it wouldn't last for long. And he seriously doubted that he'd score much at the pub. These good ole boys might be up for a game of poker, but he'd only get in one or two before word spread.

Damn. Meant he'd have to get work. Honest work. He near shuddered at the thought. He jumped at the pounding on his door. Opening it slowly, he was a little surprised to see Rita standing there.

"Dinner's going on the table in fifteen minutes. You boys," the word sounded ugly on her withered lips, "had better be there if you want to be fed."

Dean flashed her his most charming smile. "My _brother_ and I will be there, with bells on! If it tastes half as good as it smells, it'll be the best meal we've had in a while."

If he enjoyed the elderly woman's embarrassment on her misinterpretation of their relationship a little too much, no one was there to call him on it.

Closing the door, he fished out a clean t-shirt and changed, hoping it would lessen his 'city' appearance. If they were going to get anywhere in this town, they'd have to do their best to fit in. After text messaging the dinner invitation to his brother, he made his way downstairs.

It _did_ smell good, and there seemed to be a pile of food on the table. Seeing Rita struggling with a heavy platter loaded with a roast beef, he quickly took it from her and placed it on the table.

"Anything else I can do?" he asked sweetly.

Rita squinted her eyes at him for a moment, in which Dean felt every secret he'd ever carried be exposed, before nodding. "There's a pan of potatoes in the oven. Fetch them out."

When Sam walked into the dinning room, he was surprised to see his brother setting the table under the careful supervision of their hostess. He took a moment to study the people in the scene. Rita was a slight old woman who still had a lifetime's worth of fire in her. The faded jeans and well worn flannel shirt spoke loudly of a husband who had passed away. But there was no denying the healthy vitality in her step. She'd worked hard for most of her life, and age be damned, she'd work until the end of it, too. He found himself liking her immensely, despite her automatic assumption on their sexual orientation.

Standing next to someone so obviously healthy, Dean seemed the frailer of the two by comparison. His eating habits of late had finally made their appearance in lost weight, the normally tanned skin seemed pale, and his brothers strong face had started to take on a gaunt look. Overall, if one didn't know enough to notice these changes, Dean's t-shirt revealed well defined muscles and a strong back. He moved with a grace, ease, and agility that only a lifetime of combat, stealth, and weapons training could give. Despite his obvious comfort in his own skin, there was a hesitation to those movements that hadn't been there before, as if Dean were moving with an invisible weight on his shoulders.

"Earth to Sam!" Dean called out, waving his hand in front of his brothers face. "You know, staring at me like that isn't helping me convince her we're actually brothers."

Sam smirked, silently shaking away his thoughts and rising to the bait Dean had offered. "Actually, I was staring at the food. A home cooked meal like this looks better than you any day."

Rita chuckled as the sat down. Noticing neither was moving to load their plates, she frowned. "Something wrong?"

"Uh, no m'am. We're waiting for the other guests," Sam explained.

Rita laughed. "Dig in boys. There are no other guests. Don't get a lot of travelers through here."

Obediently, both boys added food to their plates. Sam frowned when he saw how little his brother had taken, but refrained from mentioning it. Starting his own meal, Sam neared closed his eyes in ecstasy. Not a fast food sign in sight. The beef was perfectly cooked medium well, the potatoes lightly spiced, and the carrots were candied. "My god, this is the best meal I've ever had," he mumbled reverently.

"You boys been on the road for a while then," Rita guessed with a smile, obviously pleased with the compliment despite her gruff response.

Dean grinned fondly at his brother. "You could say that." He turned back to the sharp woman, sensing that he had to tread carefully with her, and as close to the truth as he could manage.

"So what brings you to Faith?"

"Just following the work, M'am," Dean answered, aware now that his brother's attention was wholly on the plate of delights in front of him.

"You ranch hands then?"

Attuned to the fact that her lie detector was on full force, Dean shrugged. "In a way. I'm a mechanic. Old style."

Rita nodded, accepting. "Joe Springs runs a shop on the outskirts of town. He does a lot of contract business with the ranches. You go see him in the morning. Tell him I sent you. And quit M'aming me. Rita suited me just fine for seventy three years and it'll do for another twenty or so."

Dean grinned. "Thanks, Rita. I really appreciate it."

"What about him?" Rita nodded toward Sam, who was refilling his plate for seconds.

"He's a journalism student. Investigative. One of the stories here caught his interest, the woman who was found in her home, bloodless with no marks?"

Rita frowned. "Marie Miller. Damn shame, that. She was a good woman. Did a lot for this community. Don't recall as the police released the details, though."

Dean winked at her. "Like I said, investigative. So, you said she did a lot? How was she connected to the community?"

"About seven years ago, a big to do developer came striding into town. Wanted to commercialize it, said we could tap into the tourism industry. Trouble was, we're ranch people here, farmers. A change like that would have spelled disaster for the outlining ranches, cut them off. Faith is really just a supply run, you have to understand."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "So turning it into a tourist trap would have brought greater economical security for the town itself, but would have eventually destroyed the surrounding farmsteads, polluted the soil, and bankrupted the exporting businesses. I can see how that would cause some controversy. Obviously, it didn't happen?"

"Marie rallied against them every chance she could, even managed to get some fancy environmentalist to do a future prediction for the ecological effects the proposal would have. Some folks, they didn't care. For a while there, it was townsfolk against the ranchers. Considering we need each other to survive, it wasn't pretty," Rita explained. "The town, we needed the income. So Marie brokered a deal between the mayor and the major ranch shareholders. I don't know the specifics of it, that kind of business isn't for someone like me, but it must have worked out."

"Sounds like she saved the town. She must have made a few enemies doing it, though. Her husband must have been devastated," Dean smoothly rolled out, just the right amount of sympathy in his voice.

Rita shook her head. "Marie was an odd one. She never liked the idea of setting up house and home. She had her causes, but otherwise preferred to be left alone. Except her weekly meetings."

Sam looked up. "Weekly meetings? Like a club?"

"He speaks! And with a full mouth, too!" Rita chided lightly. Sam had the decency to blush. "They'd meet out at the Somers Ranch every Friday night. Was invited to one or two, but they took the hint and stopped asking me. I know some of the other ladies who go, though. Nice folks."

"Do you think I could get a list of names? I would like to be able to talk to them, if they were Marie's friends. And what about her family? The article said that no one has showed up to claim the body yet?"

"It's been such a tragedy for the whole town, and the police already have the names. I'm not sure they'd appreciate a wet behind the ears reporter showing up," Rita hesitated.

Dean smiled gently at her. "We understand completely. Wrong time. Can I help you clear the dishes?" he asked, sensing they weren't going to get any more from her without arousing her suspicion. He needed the job she had offered. And she had enough spunk to have earned his hard won respect.

Rita glared at his plate. "Something wrong with my cooking?"

"No, just tired from a long day on the road," Dean explained. "I'm sure looking forward to breakfast, though."

Rita nodded sharply. "You'll need to catch Joe before he heads out, so I'll have a good meal for you on the table at six. And I expect you to eat more than a bite or two. Joe doesn't need you fainting away on him from hunger, and it'll look bad on me. I feed my boys here. It's what keeps the ranch hands coming."

Dean flashed her a smile, a little put out by the sudden attention. He turned to his brother. "Can you manage this? I really am tired."

Concerned, Sam nodded. "Sure, Dean. I'll see you in the morning."

He felt both young and old eyes follow him as he returned upstairs. He knew he should wait until he could discuss their information gathering tonight, but he was exhausted. He fervently hoped he was tired enough that his dreams wouldn't disturb him tonight.

Rita turned sharp eyes on the younger brother, who was hastily shoveling in the last few forkfuls of food left on his plate. "Do you need a job while you're in town too?" she asked.

Sam shook his head. "I've got to work on the article. Something like this could buy me a full ride next fall."

"That's pretty supportive of your brother, to bring home the bacon while you're going to school. Don't get me wrong. Looking out for your family is important, but shouldn't he be doing what he trained for?" Rita probed.

Sam's smile was sad as he stood to help. "Believe me, Rita. Dean's doing _exactly_ what he was trained for."

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Sam jerked awake, startled by something. Sitting up slowly, he took careful inventory of his room, noting that nothing seemed out of place. Straining his ears, he heard it again. A low whimper. He closed his eyes against the cry that followed and the realization it brought. Dean was having another nightmare.

Quickly he went into his brother's room, hoping he could bring Dean out of it before he screamed down the entire house. The last thing they needed was a nosy bed keeper wondering why a mechanic would be screaming bloody murder in his sleep.

Sitting on the bed, he placed a firm hand on the sweat slicked bare shoulder, tensing even as he did so, ready to avoid the knife that he knew was under Dean's pillow.

"Dean." He shook harder as a low cry pierced the air. "Dean, come on, you gotta wake up." Dean tossed, but remained otherwise unresponsive. Knowing he had no choice, Sam walked across the hall to the bathroom and filled a glass with cold water. Returning, he held his brother down and dumped it on his face.

"Shit!" Dean gasped, coming awake. Sam immediately retreated, watching as his brother gasped for breath. As soon as he heard the low groan, he grabbed the waste basket and held it as Dean emptied what little he had consumed over dinner.

"Easy, Dean," Sam soothed, feeling the trembling muscles beneath his hand as he kept his brother from falling off of the bed. "Just relax."

Despite having very little to bring up, Dean's stomach continued heave for a few more minutes. He flopped back on the bed, running a hand over his face to get rid of the water. It took him another few minutes to catch his breath. By the time he could trust himself to talk, Sam had emptied the basket and dampened a cloth for him to wipe his face with.

"Thanks," Dean croaked, accepting the glass of water Sam held out to him.

"Dean, you gotta tell me what's going on," Sam whispered. "You can't keep this up."

"It was just a nightmare, Sammy. I'm fine," Dean insisted. But he wasn't. For the first time since he'd started having them, there was more than just a lingering sense of terror. This time, he remembered some of it. And it had seemed awfully damned familiar.

"No, you're not. And we can't afford your pride right now. We're on a job. The last thing we need is Rita asking questions," Sam hissed.

Frowning, Dean realized his brother was right. Whatever he had done to wake Sam, they were incredibly lucky it hadn't woken the old woman. "Honestly, Sam, I don't remember a lot. I just wake up and know that whatever it was, it was terrifying."

"But this time is different?" Sam pushed, reading the half truth in Dean's body language.

"Just flashes. I don't know of what. It just seemed familiar, somehow. But nothing clear."

"Dean, I don't think you should take the job tomorrow. What if you go into a trance? How are we going to explain that?"

"We need that job, or we can't afford to stay here while we figure this out. We've got some leads to work from. Tomorrow you need to head up to the Somers Ranch. Use one of the credit cards and see if you can't get us a truck rental. The Impala won't last long on these roads," Dean instructed, already feeling better now that his mind was focused on work.

Sam nodded and rose, knowing he wasn't going to get any more out of his brother tonight. "Sure, Dean."

"Sam?" It was a loaded question, full of apologies that his brother couldn't bring himself to actually voice, full of insistence that their minds be focused on the job in front of them, and carefully laced with the truth that Dean would tell more if he knew more himself.

"I know, Dean."


	4. Small Town Clues

AN: Sorry it took so long. RL got in the way for a while, but it's all good now! Hope you enjoy! I don't usually write stories that require a whole lot of investigating, so I hope the set up is okay. This is a first for me.

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Chapter 4

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Dean turned at the whistle that came from behind him. An older man, he had him pegged at no older than sixty five, was slowly approaching him. The sun was barely up, and the dark shine on the Impala was catching the early morning rays, giving it an almost ethereal appearance.

"Now _that_ is a fine piece of work. Don't see many like that come through here," the older man cooed, reverently running a hand over the top of the car.

"Joe Springs?" Dean asked.

Joe didn't take his eyes off the car as he nodded. "Yep. You must be Dean. Rita called me this morning in a fit of rage that you had disappeared before having a proper breakfast. Pop the hood for me, would ya?"

Dean did as he was asked, blushing. "I'll apologize to her later. I just wanted to get here early, like she said."

Joe grinned as he fiddled with something under the hood. "No need. Rita's like that. Most folks tend to get taken under her wing. She's earned herself a reputation with the seasonal ranch hands. She takes care of her boys just like they actually were hers. After Bill died, I think it's the only thing that really keeps her going. You'd best just accept that while you're here, you've inherited a caretaker."

Dean laughed, though inwardly he wasn't thrilled with the idea. They needed a certain amount of anonymity to do their job. Having a hovering self imposed grandmother was going to make things a little more difficult.

Joe dropped the hood. "Park this beauty around back. We've got a contract out at the Holders Ranch in half an hour."

"I got the job?"

"Boy, if you can keep this baby in as good shape as you have, then tractors are gonna be a piece of cake for you. Too many mechanics these days don't know how to deal with anything that doesn't have a million computer chips in it. But the roads around here are gonna tear her up. So we'll take my truck." Joe grinned. "Sides, Rita threatened to stop putting her cherry pie in my lunch if I didn't hire you."

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Sam knocked on the door, stepping back as he waited for it to be answered. The Somers Ranch was huge, and it bustled with activity. Obviously a dairy ranch, from the looks of the barns that surrounded the house.

A woman about his age answered the door, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that were already a little dirty from the morning chores. "Yes?"

"Hi, my name is-"

"I know who you are. Rita called me this morning and told me to expect you comin' by." She laughed at his surprised expression. "Honey, Faith is a small town. Not much goes on around here that folks can keep private."

Blushing, Sam grinned sheepishly. "I'm sorry for disturbing you, ah?"

"Judy. And don't be mad at Rita. Marie was one of my best friends. She didn't want you comin' here dragging up bad memories."

Sam nodded. "I understand. She was trying to protect you."

"Well, come in. You're here now. Don't know what I can tell you that I haven't already told the police."

Sam followed her inside, and was instantly struck by the homey atmosphere. The décor of the house was simple, filled with family pictures, prize ribbons and trophies. "You have a lovely home."

Judy smiled. "Would you like something to drink? I have some iced tea made up."

"That would be great, thanks."

"So why is it you're looking into Marie's death?" Judy called from the kitchen.

"I'm working on an article that is essentially going to be my final grade. The way she died just seems out of the ordinary."

Judy returned with two glasses of the promised tea, motioning for him to sit on the couch even as she took a seat in an armchair across from him. "The police have no leads. They don't even know where to start. Faith is such a small place, there isn't much by way of crime around here."

"But there have been similar deaths in the area, haven't there? Five, in the past five years."

Judy nodded. "Yeah. This was the first time it hit close to home, though. The last five were ranch hands who were passing through or just finishing up seasonal work."

"You wouldn't happen to remember their names?" Sam asked hopefully.

Judy shook her head. "Sorry. You think those murders are connected to what happened to Marie?"

"I'm not sure. That's what I'm looking to find out. Rita told us Marie had done a lot for the community. Did she have any enemies?"

Judy chuckled. "In a town this size, it's impossible not to. Everyone knows your business, whether you want them to or not. Marie was always the odd one out. She had never really fit in here, and folks around here, they don't take too kindly to different."

Sam frowned. "Marie didn't grow up here?"

"She was born here, but when her parents died, her aunt Millie sent her away to some fancy boarding school. Marie came back after college, when Millie died of lung cancer. She was- different. Like she'd seen more of the world and could see Faith for the haven it was."

"Rita said she'd never taken a husband? Is that so odd for the women in this town?" Sam asked.

Judy frowned. "That was gossip. There are plenty of single women in this community, some by choice, some widowed, some just never found the right one. Rita has older values than most, more traditional. Truth was, Marie just never slowed down long enough to catch a man's eye. She worked tirelessly for us when that tycoon came in."

"So, her enemies?"

"Like I said, mostly gossip. No one would outright kill her, I don't think. There were lots of folks who had wanted to see that developer succeed, but mostly because they couldn't see the bigger picture," Judy passed with a wave of her hand.

"And this group you had on Fridays? Do you mind telling me what it was about?"

"Oh, it's a silly thing, really. Just a bunch of the women getting together once a week to complain about their husbands, or pass along information on visiting ranch hands. Who could be trusted, who couldn't. That sort of thing. My husband started calling it the Hens Club," Judy laughed. "We invited Rita several times. She's the center of information for this place. If anyone knows what's going on, or who's who, it's her."

"But she never came?"

"Claimed she had too much work to do, what with keeping up the Bed and Pub."

Sam frowned. "She runs the Pub, too?"

"Owns it, yes. But since Bill died, she doesn't have much to do with it. About seven years ago, Cole was passing through. His car broke down, so he stayed at the Bed. While Joe was fixing it, Cole made some suggestions on how to improve the pub, modernize it without losing the traditionalism of it. Before the day was out, Cole had himself a job, and Rita a pub manager."

"Seven years ago? How long ago did Bill die?"

"Eight years ago. Damn fool was making a last run with the cattle, even if he was too old. Something caused them to stampede. Bill and three other hands died that day. My brother among them."

"I'm sorry."

Judy smiled sadly at him. "It was a long time ago, and it's one of the risks that come with the job. Our men die young, here. If you can't accept that, then you shouldn't marry a rancher."

"So, did Marie say anything strange before she died? Anything out of the ordinary?" Sam inquired, moving away from an obviously painful subject.

"No. In fact, she was excited. She thought she'd found a way to allow the town to make the money it needed without damaging the surrounding ranches. She died before she could tell me any more than that."

Sam nodded and stood. "Well, thank you very much for your time, and the ice tea. It tastes much better when it doesn't come from a can."

Judy laughed. "I hope you can find out more about what's going on then the police have. I would like to see these deaths brought to peace."

"One more question, if you don't mind. Can you tell me the last place Marie was seen outside her home?"

Judy shrugged. "At the Pub. You can find practically anyone in the area in there most nights."

"Thank you."

Sam left the ranch in the pick up he had rented, thinking about everything he had learned. It was time to go see the local coroner.

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Dean tensed under the tractor as he heard footsteps approaching. They were lighter than a woman's, but not heavy enough to be a full grown male. Slow, and paced, as though the young man wanted to take his time getting to them, but didn't want to dawdle too much.

"Randy," Joe greeted. "How are you today?"

"It's a good day, Joe. Thanks. Mom said she wanted you to send the new guy over to do some fencing."

Dean pulled himself from the ground. Randy couldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen, but he was pale, slight, and obviously sickly. Judging from the dark circles under his eyes, and the way the small frame shook with the exertions of the walk over, he would guess a heart condition of some kind.

"Uh, I don't know anything about fencing. I'm just a mechanic," Dean answered.

Joe chuckled. "Don't worry, you'll pick it up quickly enough. It sort of comes with the job, these little chores. Is it going to be a problem?"

Dean shook his head. "No problem. I'm just afraid I'll screw something up."

"Just do what everyone else is doing. Randy, why don't you take Dean to the house? Anne can pair him up with Toby."

Randy nodded eagerly. Dean was careful to match his pace to the teens, to not push him too hard. They were about halfway to the house when Randy stopped, obviously needing a break, and obviously embarrassed about it. Dean pretended to ignore it, and took the opportunity to look around.

"This place is huge. You could get lost here without even thinking about it," he commented.

Randy nodded. "Yeah, you can. You should see the orchard up over the hill."

Dean frowned. "There isn't a big, fugly, scarecrow in it, is there?" The boy looked at him questioningly, confused. Dean shook his head. "Never mind. So, fencing. What is there to that?"

Randy shrugged. "I don't know, really. I'm not allowed to do much around here." A fact that very clearly upset him.

"Why is that?"

"I have a congenital heart defect. Today's a good day, but most days, I'm pretty weak. In a place like this, that makes me useless," Randy explained bitterly.

Dean shook his head. "I wouldn't say that, Randy. Most children with CHD don't survive their first year. You've made it to what, thirteen? Fourteen? I'd say that's pretty strong. And no one is useless. Everyone has a talent for something."

Randy looked hopeful. "Really?"

"Definitely."

His face fell again. "Even if I did, I probably won't live long enough to do anything with it."

"I know a thing or two about counting days, Randy. Trust me when I say you gotta make every one worth something, even if it's only worth it to you."

"Most people when they find out start spouting off about God's divine will. Thank you, for not doing that," Randy smiled.

Dean shrugged. "God can go get stuffed. It's your life, however long or short it is, and it's up to you to make the most of it. If you need some faith to help you through the tougher times, then by all means, use it, but don't let it become a crutch."

Randy cast shrewd eyes on the hunter. "You're not just a mechanic, are you?"

"What makes you say that?" They started making their way back to the house, allowing Dean to avoid having to look at the teen.

"The only people who talk like that are the ones who look death in the face everyday, who know every morning they wake up might be their last. Not exactly the boring life of a mechanic."

Dean grinned. "Who says being a mechanic is boring? I came out to help fix a tractor and now I'm being shang hai'd into fencing. You never know what life is gonna throw at you. You just have to make the best of what you've got."

Randy snorted. "Definitely not a mechanic." But he let the subject drop as he needed his air to finish the walk.

Within the hour, Dean found himself so far out that he was positive they must be in another state, digging holes for the fence posts. Toby, the hand that had been assigned to him was a talkative man in his thirties.

"So, Toby, have you been around long?" Dean asked. Years of digging up graves made these little pot holes a piece of cake. It was actually kind of soothing to be able to do it without an angry spirit on his ass.

"Coupla years. Came on for the migration, but I did so well, they kept me."

"Notice anything strange happening around the town?"

Toby laughed. "A ranch is a ranch is a ranch. They don't differ none too much from one to the other. It's the little quirks that make them even a tiny bit unique," Toby grinned.

"What kind of quirks?"

Toby shrugged. "People have died in weird ways around here the last coupla years. Police ain't sayin' much, but gossip gets around. People completely drained of blood, some cattle what had the same done to 'em. Creepy."

Dean arched his eyebrows in surprise. "Drained of blood? How did that happen?"

"See, that's the funny part. No one knows. Every rumor you can imagine been flying around this town to explain it, and it's becoming a bit of an urban legend for the ranch hands. See, the first five murders was all hands what come in for the season."

"Is there any connection between them?"

"Some say that all the hands what died were bad types. Did some things that weren't exactly honest. Next thing you know, pow, they's all dead. My buddy, Keith, he was friends with the coroner. Said the blood had been evaporated, and the insides were boiled well done. There was a lot of talk about witchcraft for a while, 'fore the cops put a lid on it."

Dean forced a chuckle. "Witchcraft. That seems a little out there, don't you think? Especially in a town like this. Pretty small for a witch to hide in."

Toby shrugged. "I ain't the smartest man around, Dean, but I imagine that it would be perfect. My granny, she believed in that type of thing. Was always protecting herself against it. Said a witch can hide anywhere they have a like to. Small town like this, where folks need for things to stay the same so badly, would be a right ripe place."

Dean nodded. "So, your buddy, Keith, is he still around?"

Toby shook his head. "Nah. He was only on for a season. Hey, looks like Joe wants you back. They sent Randy to come get ya. Creepy kid. Into weird stuff, that one."

Dean followed his line of sight to see Randy driving a pick up toward them. "What kind of weird stuff?"

"He's always reading latin books. His body might be sickly, but that boy, he's pretty smart. He collects bones, too. Anyway, thanks for the help, man. Take care and I'll see you around."

Dean shook his hand, and the by the time he had thrown the shovel into the back of Toby's pick up, Randy had pulled up. "Hey Kiddo," Dean greeted.

"Joe's finished the tractor. You guys have to get back to the shop for lunch."

Dean hopped in, a little concerned about having the teen behind the wheel, but the kid was a decent driver. The drive took twice as long as it had to get out there, but he knew they had to take it easy so the ride wouldn't jar the sick boy. Randy had leaned over and turned on the radio to some country station, making Dean grimace. But as he'd once told Sam, driver picks the music, shot gun shuts his cake hole.

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Sam turned as he heard the rumble of a truck pulling into the parking lot of the small garage. Rita had decided that he would be useful one way or the other, and the least he could do was take his brother some lunch. He'd gotten the riot act this morning when he'd made his way to the breakfast table, only to discover his brother had been long gone by then.

"Sam!" Dean called, hopping out. "What are you doing here?"

"Rita sent me over with lunch for you guys. And do me a favor tomorrow, Dean, don't skip out on breakfast," Sam quipped lightly, hiding his concern.

"Joe, this is my brother, Sam. He's a journalism student, working an article on the Miller death," Dean introduced, ignoring his brothers pointed look.

Joe shook Sam's hand, but appeared more interested in the basket he held. "Rita send me my pie?" He took the basket over to a picnic table and started laying out the numerous items.

Sam gave his brother a quick once over. Dean was filthy with dirt and grease, but he seemed more at ease than he had been for a while. Not for the first time, Sam wondered what Dean would have done with his life if their father hadn't raised them as supernatural warriors.

"Have you eaten yet?" Dean asked, breaking Sam from his thoughts.

"Yeah. But we have seriously gotta talk when you get off work. I've got a few leads. This afternoon I have an appointment with the coroner."

Dean nodded. "Me too. Had a couple of interesting conversations today. Apparently someone got the real story out of the coroner. The blood had been evaporated and the internal organs cooked dry."

Sam screwed up his face. "That sounds unpleasant. But, Dean, that kind of heat would have left burns on the skin. The eyes should have been melted out too."

"I know. Which makes me think our culprit wasn't a specific heat source."

"I've never heard of any demons that could do that. And most don't try to cover their tracks that well," Sam pointed out. "The death toll is a little low too, if it's been around this long."

"I don't think it's a demon. I think we've got a witch on our hands." Dean grimaced, absently pushing his fingers into his temple. "For such a small town, the list of suspects is endless." He closed his eyes against the head ache he could feel building. "Randy Holders apparently either is home schooled at a university level, or has a morbid fascination with latin and bones. God." He put both hands to his temples.

"Dean, are you all right?" Sam frowned in concern.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just a headache. I was out digging holes for fence posts this morning. I might have gotten too much sun." Then his face crumpled in pain. "Shit!"

Sam barely had time to reach out as his brother collapsed, easing him gently to the ground. "Dean, stay with me," he ordered firmly, panicking a little. But it was too late. Dean was already unconscious, his head falling limply back before Sam could support it.

"What the hell?" Joe cried, coming to kneel next to them. "What happened?"

Sam looked up. "Is there a hospital around here? Or a doctor?"

Joe nodded. "There's a GP that lives in town. Retired, but he still looks after us. Get your brother over to Rita's and I'll have Doc Brown meet you there."

Sam nodded, getting Dean's arm around his shoulder and easily lifting his weight using the momentum he built standing up. Joe took up his other arm and helped Sam get him into the Impala.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean was lying in his bed at Rita's, still unconscious, while Sam paced around the small room, anxiously waiting for the Doctor to come. What the hell had happened? The last time Dean had passed out had been after a trance. Had he had another one this morning and not mentioned it?

"Sam?" Rita called. "Doc Brown is here."

Sam let him in, and was surprised to see an older man thinned and worn with age, but obviously still fit, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. What had he expected? A little old man with glasses and shaking hands in a tweed jacket? "Thank you for coming, Doctor."

"Joe said he just collapsed? Was there any signs before it happened? Has it happened before?"

Sam hesitated. Whatever was happening to Dean, he was almost positive it was supernatural. The Doctor wouldn't be able to help with that, so there wasn't any real point in telling him everything. "No. But he said he had a headache right before he went down. It seemed to come on pretty suddenly."

Brown nodded, doing a cursory check of the young man on the bed. "Rita says he hasn't been eating? She says he was sick to his stomach last night, too."

Frowning, Sam nodded. So much for hoping they hadn't woken the old woman up last night. "He hasn't been sleeping well lately. Nightmares."

After that, he was shooed out of the room. He joined Rita downstairs.

"How is he?" she asked.

"Dr. Brown is looking at him now. Rita, we're sorry about last night. We didn't mean to wake you."

Rita nodded. "I don't mean to pry, but he was yelling out some weird stuff last night."

Sam realized he was going to have to tell her something, or they would lose her cooperation. As it stood, she was probably their best source of information. He also knew that lying to her would achieve the same result. So he took his brothers lead and told her the first half truth he could think of.

"He saw our mother die when he was four. Our father put a lot on him, after that. He's spent his entire life taking care of me. Sometimes, it just sort of creeps in to haunt him," Sam explained.

Rita nodded sympathetically, but before she had a chance to say anything, the doctor joined them.

"How is he?" Sam asked anxiously.

Brown smiled gently. "He's exhausted, and suffering from mild malnutrition. You need to make sure he eats, even if he does bring it up later. I've given him a mild sedative that should keep him out, and sleeping too deeply to dream, for a few hours. Here are some tablets that should help settle his stomach. They'll make him drowsy, though, so only give them to him at night."

"Thank you, Dr. Brown," Sam replied gratefully, taking the package of Gravol.

"If it happens again, don't hesitate to call me."

Sam reached for his wallet to pay the man, but to his surprise, Brown shook his head and looked hopefully to Rita. "I could maybe be persuaded to let it go for a piece of your pumpkin pie? With that cream topping you make?"

Rita chuckled. "Come on, you old fart. Have a seat and I'll get you some."

Sam smiled his gratitude to both and turned to head upstairs. He pulled up a chair next to Dean's bed and made himself comfortable. He wasn't moving until he'd had a chance to talk to his brother, and this time, Dean wasn't going to get away with only telling him half truths. If they were going to get to the bottom of this, he needed to know everything.

If only he could shake this feeling in his gut that they were very quickly running out of time.


	5. Usual Suspects

AN: Happy Canada Day! As a treat, an early update!

Both investigations get a little more complex here. Hope you enjoy!

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Chapter 5

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The first thing he was aware of was a nagging headache that was mildly throbbing behind his eyes. The second was that he was lying on something very soft. The third was the slight vibrations shaking through the mattress. That, at least, he recognized. Sam was snoring away on the bed beside him. There was another sound, fainter, a clicking sound that he'd never heard before.

Frowning, he realized he was going to have to open his eyes to assess his situation any further. He forced his eyes open, blinking as the dim light from a small lamp across the room scorched through his retinas.

"Is the light too bright?" an older woman asked. Dean nodded, and was rewarded with an immediate dimming of the offensive brilliance. At least now he could keep his eyes open. Rita was sitting in a chair across from his bed, knitting something. Turning a little, Dean felt his brothers form near pressed up against his back.

Rita chuckled at his expression. "He wouldn't leave until you woke up, but almost fell asleep in this chair. I convinced him to grab a nap while you were out. You gave him quite a scare."

Dean smiled. "Thank you," he croaked. His voice felt scratchy with disuse, and his muscles were telling him he'd been asleep for some time. The niggling headache had faded nicely to the background. Glancing at the night stand, he saw a pitcher of lemonade. Rita instantly followed his gaze and poured him a glass, keeping her hand on the bottom of it as his shaking muscles made it difficult to hold it still.

"Thank you," he repeated, stronger this time. He would have preferred water, but the lemonade was surprisingly refreshing and cooled his itchy throat. "And thank you for making sure he slept."

Rita shrugged. "I tried to talk him into his own room, but he wouldn't have anything to do with the idea. These beds just weren't meant for two full grown men, sadly. I was afraid he would wake you."

"We're used to sharing tight quarters. How long was I out?" He didn't know exactly how long, but a twinge in his back told him it had been longer than he'd slept in a long time.

"About sixteen hours. Doc Brown gave you a sedative that would keep the nightmares away for a while. It obviously worked," Rita smiled. "What do you remember?"

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, careful to keep his movements small so he wouldn't wake his brother. He wished Sam was awake so he could lead him, let him know how much Rita already knew, but he knew his brother had been worried about him lately. Dean's nightmares had kept them both up.

"I don't- I was at the shop, with Joe. Sam had just arrived with lunch and Joe made a beeline for the pie. Must be some pie you make," Dean grinned, attempting to keep it light, though he knew she wouldn't be distracted for long. "Apparently, your threatening to take it away got me the job. Thank you, for that."

Rita grinned and winked at him. "The secret is in the crust. What else do you remember?"

"Nothing. I was talking to Sam, and next thing I know, I've got my brother using me as his personal teddy bear."

Rita nodded. "You scared Sam and Joe plenty when you collapsed. Doc Brown came over to have a look at you. Exhausted and not eating enough. Said you'd be fine after some sleep. How do you feel?"

"A lot better, actually."

Sam stirred beside him, grunting in his sleep, but didn't wake. Rita noticed the way Dean almost held his breath to make sure he didn't facilitate waking his brother, and the way he relaxed once it was obvious Sam hadn't been disturbed.

"Sam told me about your nightmares," Rita started, hoping to get a little more information than what Sam had given her. A part of her had smelled a half lie, and wanted to see what Dean would say without prior knowledge.

Dean cast about his mind frantically, sensing she was fishing for something. Sam would have been smart enough to know he couldn't outright lie to the older woman. He also wouldn't have given away their secret. He nodded. There was only one event in their lives that would be civilian safe.

"When I was young, I saw my mother die. It creeps up on me sometimes, especially in places like this, that feel like a home, even if it's not _my_ home."

Rita smiled gently, content now that she'd received the same story from the brothers. "I'm sorry to hear about that. I still have nightmares about my Bill sometimes."

Dean nodded. He couldn't believe it, but he was _still _tired. He didn't feel comfortable falling asleep in front of her, though. He knew this time there would be a nightmare. He smiled. "I appreciate you sitting with me, Rita, but I'm all right now."

She scanned him with those piercing eyes, and he did his best to project a picture of health. Whatever she saw, she nodded and started gathering her knitting materials, sensing her care was making him uncomfortable. She understood. People who generally spent their lives taking care of others didn't often know how to accept being cared for themselves.

"You will be when you get some breakfast in you. Joe's given you the day off tomorrow, so don't worry about hopping out of bed."

"Thank you, Rita," Dean expressed genuinely. Though the moment his door closed, so did his eyes. Another hour of sleep, he decided, then he would wake Sam to let him know he was okay. They could go over what they had found.

Just one hour.

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Sam looked up as Dean made his way into the dinning room, lured by the smell of breakfast. His brother was still a little pale, and a little shaky from too much sleep, but otherwise appeared much better than he had for a while. The undisturbed sleep had obviously done him some good.

Without a word, Sam stood and filled a plate from the assortment of pancakes, bacon, eggs, sausage and ham that was laid out. He slathered toast with homemade marmalade, making sure to keep away from anything greasy that would upset Dean's delicate stomach. He didn't over load the plate, but made sure there was enough for a solid meal. A fraction of the devastation a normally healthy Dean would make of the meal, but still probably more than Dean would be able to eat.

Dean nodded at his brother, grasping his wrist briefly to let him know he was really okay. Without a word, he did his best to do justice to what seemed to him a huge meal.

Rita, who had been watching, nodded approvingly. She turned to the younger brother. "Fred Collins called me this morning about your missed appointment. I told him something had come up, and rescheduled you for this morning. You need to be there by ten."

Sam's mouth popped open in surprise, but then he closed it. The sooner he realized this investigation wasn't going to be kept a secret, the sooner he could stop looking and feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Thank you, Rita."

Dean grinned at his younger brother, feeling for all the world like he had when they'd been kids, and Sam had been caught doing something he shouldn't. He had to pop a piece of pancake- sans syrup or butter, much to his simultaneous relief and disgust- into his mouth to keep from sticking out his tongue and saying 'nah-nah'. Sam scowled, letting Dean know his expression had given away the temptation.

"And you should take it easy today, Dean. Doc Brown said nothing more strenuous than watching television," Rita announced.

Now it was Dean's turn to scowl as Sam failed to resist Dean's earlier temptation and stuck out his tongue.

Dean was struck the normality of the whole thing mid scowl. Rita was moving around, fussing over breakfast, sternly instructing Sam to be well behaved at his appointment with the coroner, while his brother ate contentedly, nodding his head in the right places, but clearly more concerned with his plate than her advice.

"_John, don't forget Dean's got an appointment with the doctor this afternoon for his immunizations," Mary reminded her husband as he turned the page of the paper. "You know he doesn't like it when I take him."_

_Flicking the paper to hide his expression from his wife, John made a face at his four year old son. As if he had seen it, six month old Sammy let out a squeal of laughter from his high chair. Dean giggled, ducking his head as Mary turned from the coffee maker to eye all three disapprovingly, somehow sensing something had happened._

"_I'll see if I can get off work early today," John answered smoothly, rising from his chair to give her a kiss, placating her. _

_Mary nodded, accepting the peace offering, letting out a tinkling laugh that always made Dean smile. He took in his family this morning, knowing even at such a tender age that these moments were to be appreciated. He felt safe, loved and wanted. This was his entire world standing in the kitchen, and it was all _his_._

Sam looked up in concern as Dean suddenly pushed back from the table and made his way to the bathroom. Glancing at his plate, Sam was disappointed to see Dean hadn't managed to eat more than a quarter of it. He excused himself with a glance at Rita before following his brother. Standing outside the door, he could hear Dean bringing up what little he had eaten.

Sam frowned. Instinctively he knew this had very little to do with Dean's stomach, and everything to do with the scene in the dinning room this morning. He wracked his brain, replaying every movement and word, to try and locate the source of Dean's upset, but he couldn't. Knocking lightly on the door, Sam called out to his brother. "You okay?"

"Just give me a minute," Dean called back.

Inside the bathroom, Dean leaned his forehead against the cool porcelain of the toilet seat. The vision that had bombarded him had felt so real, like he had actually been standing in their kitchen in Lawrence watching the scene play out.

He remembered that morning very clearly. It had been the last time his family had been together like that. His world had fallen apart later that night. The memory was burned into his mind. He had kept it on the edge of his mind for his entire life, a reminder of just what he was fighting for. He had never told Sam about it. He was pretty sure his brother wouldn't understand.

It was the first time it had happened while he was awake. He had finally recognized the nightmares. They were memories from his past. It was why they had felt so familiar. But why, then, were they so terrifying? What the hell was happening to him? If it was a spell, it was the weirdest he had ever been under. Given his life, that was really saying something.

"Dean, please." Sam's voice from the other side of the door was anxious. He didn't like being shut out, but Dean knew that his younger brother couldn't understand. Their memories were so different, their perspectives of their childhood almost completely opposite. In a very real way, they had grown up in two different worlds, and Dean had always done his best to protect his brother from the one he'd had.

Still, he couldn't stay hidden in here forever, and his dry heaves had stopped some minutes ago. Forcing himself to his feet, he opened the door and made his way to his room, knowing without looking that Sam would follow him. If they had to have this conversation, it was better done in private.

Sam closed the door behind him, watching as Dean practically collapsed onto the bed, curling himself around a pillow tucked into his stomach. The position made Dean look small and vulnerable, two words Sam would never seriously have applied to his brother before. Worried, Sam sat on the bed behind his brother, needing the little reassurance the light contact of his hand on Dean's hip gave him.

"Are you okay?"

Dean grunted. "Stomach's upset. Think I ate too fast."

"Dean," Sam sighed, the one word heavy with exasperation and concern.

"I don't know, Sammy. I wish I did, but I don't," Dean lied. For now, he had to keep this to himself. It didn't seem as if there was anything he could do about it, so there was no point in worrying his brother anymore than he already was.

"Maybe we should call Bobby," Sam suggested, knowing his brother was keeping something from him, but also knowing that Dean wouldn't talk until he was damn well good and ready to.

Dean shook his head. "There isn't anything he can do, and frankly, I'm not really up to anymore concoctions from hell."

"Well we have to do _something_," Sam growled in frustration.

Dean nodded. "_You_ have to get over to see the coroner in twenty minutes, and honestly, _I_ could really use a nap."

"You can't honestly expect me to still go?" Sam asked incredulously. "You're sick, Dean, whether you want to admit it or not."

Dean closed his eyes, equally frustrated with his brother. "Fine. I'm sick. But you being here isn't going to change it. We're Hunting, Sam. We have a job to do, and we're going to do it. After you see Collins, I want you to head out to the Holders Ranch. Talk to Randy. He might appreciate another academic to talk to, and you'd probably recognize the books he's using better than me. Just go easy with him. He's got CHD."

"You mentioned him yesterday before you fainted."

Dean scowled. "I did not _faint_. I passed out. _Women_ faint, Sam, men drop, collapse, or manfully pass out."

Unable to resist the tease, Sam chuckled. "I don't know, dude. Ask Joe, you swooned right into my arms."

"Sam, you've got ten seconds to get out of this room, or I'll tell Rita you're upsetting me," Dean threatened menacingly.

Sam chuckled, holding up his hands in defeat. "All right, I'm going. You need your beauty sleep, after all."

"Bitch," Dean threw out as Sam opened the door.

"Jerk."

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Sam looked around the small room. He felt a little odd standing here in jeans and a hoodie. They would have normally been standing here in suits, pretending to be some federal agent or another. He pushed away the thought that they would normally be doing this together. It was a little too raw to explore at the moment. Unfortunately, in a town as small as Faith had proven to be, they couldn't afford to change their alias'. He hoped Collins was as talkative as the rest of the town seemed to be. Being a journalism student would give him some ground with the civilians, but not here. By law, Collins could only tell him so much. On principle, even less.

"Sam?" Fred called, walking into the cold room. "Right on time."

Sam nodded, wondering why no one ever seemed to use a last name around here, except when naming a particular ranch. "Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Collins."

The coroner shrugged. "Call me Fred. And it was no problem. Not a lot to do around here."

"So these deaths are pretty out of place?"

"Yes, though I haven't decided if that makes it better or worse."

Sam frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

"I moved to Rapid City just out of medical school. After the flood of '72, I had decided I'd seen enough dead bodies to last me a life time. So I came here. Seems trouble eventually comes calling everywhere. It was peaceful here for years, until these started happening."

"Can you recall the names of the other victims?" Sam asked.

Collins shook his head. "I'm sorry, I can't release that information to the press."

Sam nodded his understanding, and carefully bottled his frustration. "I have a source that says the blood had been evaporated? The internal organs cooked?"

Collins grimaced. "Gruesome way to die. Judging from the signs of trauma on the victims, they were still alive at least half way through the process."

"But there was never any marks found on the bodies? No burns implicating a heat source?"

"You seem to be well informed for an amateur journalist," Fred stated, frowning a little. He kept studying Sam, as if he were looking for a hint of something.

Feeling uncomfortable under the scrutiny, Sam shrugged. "You don't get very far in this business if you're not one of the best." And he was in no way speaking of journalism. He couldn't shake the feeling that Collins knew that, too.

"Well, then you know I can't release the details."

Realizing he was going to have to tread carefully, Sam chewed on his bottom lip. For whatever reason, Collins was still talking to him, and was trying to find ways to give him the information he needed. He just had to be very selective of the questions he asked. Confirming suspicions was obviously very different from directly giving information.

"Have you ever seen anything like it before?"

"Nope. And hope I never do again. Whatever did it, I hope it's long gone."

Sam frowned as he caught the word play. "Whatever? Don't you mean whoever?"

Collins leaned forward. "Son, nothing human could have done that, not as cleanly as it was. There wasn't even so much as a drop of blood found on the scene. Look, no more games. I know who you and your brother are, I know what you do."

Surprised, Sam shifted uncomfortably. Deciding that not denying it was the best way to confirm it, he asked, "How much do you know about it?"

"My uncle was a Hunter. I never got into the lifestyle myself, but Uncle Craig made sure I knew enough to keep safe, or to alert the right people if I ever came across something like this. Unfortunately, my uncle died a decade ago, and I never knew any of his contacts. I, for one, am glad you boys are here."

"Do you have any theories on what might have caused these deaths?"

Fred shook his head. "Like I said, I don't know very much. All I know is that whatever is happening in this town is supernatural in nature. I do have one lead, though, a connection between the victims. The five hands, they'd all done something wrong, something either illegal or immoral. Marie, she was in the middle of something big, something that would have changed this town forever. Whatever is doing it, is killing these people to make sure the town never changes."

Sam frowned. Dean had been right in his suspicions. They were obviously dealing with a witch. Demons generally didn't need a motive to kill. Witches, unfortunately, were harder to deal with. They were human, after all, and Hunters didn't kill humans. They would have to locate the source of her power and destroy it.

"Fred, have you noticed anyone acting strangely around town? Were there any marks on the bodies to suggest the deaths might have been ritualistic?" Sam asked, glad he didn't have to find a way to skirt around the question.

"Like I said, there wasn't a mark on the bodies. Not even so much as a fingernail out of place. The throats were raw, though, like they had been screaming. But there were no defensive wounds, no signs of a fight. It was like they burned up from the inside standing where they were."

"What about the cattle?"

"I never saw them. I've heard from a couple of gossiping hands that it was the same thing, only there was blood everywhere. Like someone was practicing."

Sam rubbed his forehead. "Thank you, Fred, for all your help."

Fred nodded and stood, reaching out to shake the younger mans hand. "I hope you and your brother find it. I've had my fill of dead bodies, and it seems I attract the most gruesome. I'd like to retire knowing whatever it is, is dead."

"We'll do our best, Dr. Collins."

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Randy looked up at the tall stranger, instantly seeing the relation to the new mechanic. He smiled and waved the man inside, knowing his parents were out working.

"So, Randy, Dean asked me to come by and see how you were doing," Sam explained as they entered what appeared to be a library. He whistled. The entire room was floor to ceiling shelves, and all lined with books. Old, new, every genre seemed to be available to the obviously ill young teen. There was a comfortable couch in the middle of the room, and a coffee table that was stacked with still more books.

"Sorry for the mess. Sometimes I can't get around to putting the books away," Randy apologized.

"It's okay. I'm a little jealous, if you want to know the truth. I would have killed for a set up like this," Sam answered honestly.

Randy shrugged. "I can't do much around the ranch, so this keeps me occupied and out of everyone's way."

Sam perused the books. There were books in near every language, and for the first time, he noticed display cases of skeletons and fossils of various animals. "Were you home schooled?"

"I couldn't go to class like the other kids, so my parents hired a permanent tutor, a retired professor."

"And do you like him?"

Randy grinned. "He's great. He used to teach archeology at a fancy university. Sometimes we go out digging in the fields for bones. It's usually only animal bones, but he makes it exciting, like even if we only found a dead fox today, tomorrow it might be a dinosaur. In 1990, an amateur paleontologist found the most complete T-Rex skeleton, in the Hell Creek formation near here, that had been discovered to date. So you never know. It could happen."

Sam smiled, impressed with the teens knowledge, and picked out a book. "Latin?"

"When you spend your life dealing with doctors, and medical terms, you decide pretty early on that understanding the language is important. My parents spent years trying to shield me from my condition, until they finally realized it was driving me insane. After that, they did whatever they could to help me learn," Randy explained.

Sam nodded, putting the book back. Most of the latin books were philosophy or medical texts. He couldn't see anything that looked like a spell book. "So what do you want to do when you grow up?"

Randy smiled. "Wow, you guys really are brothers." Surprised, Sam turned to face the teen. "Dean talked like that, too. Like I had a future, and that it was mine to decide what to do with."

"I take it most people don't talk to you like that?"

Randy shook his head sadly. "They mean well, the folks from town, but they try so hard to avoid words like 'future', 'career', and 'growing up'. Mostly, it's a lot of religious spouting that makes me realize I'm a good person for not strangling them."

Sam chuckled. "So? What do you want to do?"

Randy shrugged, moving slowly along the shelves, touching each book lightly as though they were his most prized possession. Given the glimpse into his life, Sam realized they probably were. "There's so much I want to do. Professor Knight teases me all the time that I would probably be a lifelong student if I ever had the chance to go to university."

Sam grinned. "My professors at Stanford used to say the same about me."

Randy sighed. "I think, if I was going to dream big, I would like to spend my life doing research. Not just for one subject, though. For a lot of different subjects. Sort of like a freelance researcher for hire."

Sam smiled. "Sounds like fun. Hard work, though. You'd have to prove yourself over and over again."

Randy looked at him, and Sam couldn't help but admire the sparkle of fire in his eyes. "But that's half the fun, you know. I could be a professional show off, without having to be an athlete or an actor."

Sam laughed, delighting in the kids spirit. He could see why Dean had grown a little attached to the kid. "You're right. Sounds like a ton of fun."

"So, how's Dean? I heard that he was sick yesterday?"

Sam's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Wow. I can't believe how fast information travels around here."

Randy grinned. "Small town. Strangers arriving is always big news, especially when one of them collapses in a very visible parking lot. So, is he okay?"

"He's fine. Just needs a day off."

Randy frowned. "He said he knew something about counting days. He's not really sick, like big bad sick, is he?"

Surprised again, Sam shook his head. Dean wasn't normally so open, but then, he'd always had a soft spot for kids, whether he'd admit it or not. "He's not sick. But we've had our share of bad experiences. I guess that's what he was talking about."

Lie. Dean had been talking about the deal he'd made to save Sam. But as much as he wanted to ask Randy what they had talked about, somehow he suspected that it had been a private moment between the two of them.

Randy nodded, accepting. He knew it was more than that, but wasn't willing to press it. "So, you're doing an article on Marie Miller's death?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed, happy with the change in subject. "It's a little hard, though, when everyone in town knows my next step before I do. I can't help but get the feeling that they're giving me prepared answers."

"Maybe I can help. I hear a lot. People tend to treat me like I'm invisible once they're finished their polite God's Will speech."

Sam smiled. "Small town with small minds?"

Randy grinned, liking Sam as much as he had liked his brother. "Yeah, exactly."

"Have you heard any strange rumors about the deaths?"

"There was some rumors about witches a while back. Toby, one of the ranch hands that works here, says they can hide anywhere. That they'll kill you in your sleep and that they eat babies. Professor Knight says people believe what Hollywood feeds them, that witchcraft, in some form or another, has been present in every culture in the world since the dawn of humanity."

"And what do you believe?"

"I believe that something killed those people horribly, and that it has folks running scared. Scared people do and say stupid things. Especially in a close community like this. It's funny, though, that they're more willing to believe in witches then they are that one of their neighbors might have done it," Randy pointed out.

"Rita says a lot of ranch hands come and go around here. Has there been any speculation that it might be one of them?" Sam asked curiously. Randy might be sickly, but the boy was obviously far from stupid. He was insightful in a way that wasn't normally associated with children his age, but then, he'd spent his life immersed in books telling him about a world he'd never see. It wasn't surprising that it had made him hyper aware of his own world.

"Strangers don't get a lot of room to do something like that around here. As you've noticed yourself, folks keep a pretty close eye on them. Toby's been here for years, and is still watched like a hawk. Cole, the pub manager, he was accepted near as family the minute he took control of the pub. If I was going to look into anyone, it would be him."

"Has he ever done anything to be suspicious about?"

Randy chuckled. "No, but then, killers usually don't, do they?"

Sam tilted his head, conceding the point while still mentally adding him to the list of people he needed to talk to. "These deaths don't seem to scare you much," he pointed out curiously.

"Being an outsider, I guess I'm not really considered part of 'the mob' mentality that happens when events like this strike. I love the folks around here, I really do, but if they'd put as much effort into finding the killer as they do gossiping about it, Marie might not be dead."

"Don't suppose you happen to know the secret to Rita's pies? That's the real mystery Dean wants solved," Sam teased, feeling the need to lighten the subject a little. Randy was only a kid, after all. Just because he could talk like an adult didn't make him one, and Sam didn't particularly want to drag him any further into this than he already had.

Randy shook his head. "No one knows that. Only Rita. She claims it's an old family recipe, but no one around here knows her family."

Frowning, Sam leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

"Rita's been old for as long as I can remember. It's an expression you'll hear from a lot of townsfolk. No one remembers her parents, or if she moved here, no one remembers from where. Rita and Bill were just always there, sort of like the support beams in your house. Something you take for granted until it breaks. When Bill died, there was a lot of speculation because Rita didn't have a funeral."

"Judy Somers said that it was a fact of life, men dying young around here. Is it unusual to not have a funeral?"

"These are church going folks. Every Sunday, the church is the busiest place in town. Death is a part of the lifestyle. Stampedes happen, people get hurt on farm equipment, someone falls off a horse or a tractor goes into the ditch. There are a hundred different ways to die here. The funerals are almost as important as the jobs themselves. People need closure, need to believe that it's God's Will, to keep doing it."

"But Rita didn't have one?"

Randy shook his head. "It was a big thing around town for a long time. Not enough to stop going to the Pub, or to stop sending freshly hired hands to the Bed, but enough to get tongues wagging." He glanced at the clock. "It was great talking to you, Sam, but Professor Knight is going to be here for my afternoon lessons very soon, and I have a little homework to do before he gets here."

Standing, Sam automatically reached out to shake the teens hand. He didn't have the heart to withdraw it when he saw how much the simple gesture meant to the youth as a thin hand gripped his own lightly. "It was nice to meet you, too, Randy. I might be back to steal a look through some of your books," Sam grinned.

Randy nodded, but his face was serious, and the hand that had been lightly in his tightened considerably. "Sam, I know this is going to sound strange, but be careful, okay?"

"Sure, Randy, but why?"

Randy shook his head again. "I don't know. I just- just be careful, and watch Dean's back. He can try to fit in all he wants, but it's pretty obvious he's not just a mechanic. If I can tell, sooner or later, someone else is going to notice it too. And by association, that means you're not just a reporter."

Stunned, Sam nodded and left. He was just reaching over to turn on the ignition the rental truck when he realized that twice in one day, two people had told him they knew who he was, or that he wasn't what he was claiming to be.

Suddenly, Randy's warning seemed a little more credible.


	6. Surprise Visit

AN: Sorry for the delayed update. Camping in the BC Rockies. Love it. Get up, head for a swim, hike, roast some hot dogs on the campfie, hike some more, grab supper, some perfectly roasted marshmallows, then head for a good night swim. Perfect day. Nothing like a few laps around a cold, crisp lake to wake you up every morning, and send you blissfully to sleep every night! Not a feeling on earth like when it's just you, the lake, and the mountains. Must be getting old, though, lol, sleeping on the ground isn't as enjoyable as it once was, lol.

Anyway, this chapter is a little long, but the next one is shorter. Would love to hear some theories! Not that it's worth much, but I'll write a story (in the Supernatural fandom) for the FIRST person to correctly guess who the witch is. Any genre, any plot. Sky's the limit. Reviews come directly to my email, so I'll know who got it first right away. I hope it's not too easy to figure out. Reveal is in Chapter 7.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 6

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After his nap, which had been surprisingly peaceful, Dean decided it was time he contributed to the hunt. Joe wasn't going to let him anywhere near work for the rest of the day, so he figured it would be a good time to check out the Pub. It was nearing lunch time anyway, so he slipped past Rita without much trouble.

The inside of the Pub was, thankfully, almost empty. There were a few people having lunch, but he was careful to note that no one had alcohol sitting in front of them. He noted the pool table at the back of the room, but dismissed it. Given his current condition, he didn't think his hands were steady enough to pull off a hustle. Besides, it usually worked better when it was the two of them.

He took a seat at the table and picked up the menu. He wasn't really hungry, but ordering a beer would have put him a little out of place. He cringed at the country coming softly from the speakers, but resigned himself to the fact that there was no way around it.

A lean man with short, black hair stood behind the bar. He looked more the business type than he did the usual bartender, but it wasn't off turning. He wore jeans and a dress shirt, but had a bar rag over his shoulder. It was an unusual image, but nothing alarming.

"What can I get you?"

Dean turned his gaze to the waitress, and was surprised to find a rather plain looking woman standing beside him. She wasn't obese, but she definitely had a few extra pounds on her. Her jeans were ratty and torn, while her simple pink t-shirt appeared to be uniform, though it was missing a logo. She waved her pencil at him, encouraging him to speak, and he realized he'd been staring at her. A name tag announced her as Lily.

"Sorry," he said, turning back to the menu. "I'll just have some toast." He noticed that what she wrote down seemed a lot longer than the word 'toast' should have been. "And a cola."

"Sure thing." She turned without another word.

Dean continued his observations, noting that everyone in the pub had glanced over at him at least once, leaning forward to whisper. It was then he realized that in a place like this, his collapse would be practically front page news.

He was getting a little frustrated with it and was about to leave when the door opened. Two men came in, their heads close together in conversation. As he recognized them, his mood went further down hill. They spotted him, and made their way to his table, looking as surprised to see him as he was to see them.

"Dean, what the hell are you doing here?" Sam demanded, knowing his brother was supposed to be tucked away in bed under the watchful eye of their adopted grandmother.

Dean turned his glare on the second man. "I could ask you the same thing. Was it really necessary to call Bobby in?" he growled. Especially since he had specifically told Sam _not_ to.

Bobby knew the boy well enough not to take offense. "Actually, I came on my own. I've got some information that might help. I met up with Sam at the Bed."

Lily came by to take their orders, then left them to themselves. Dean leaned forward. "So what's this information?"

"There was another death. In Rapid City, same MO," Bobby announced.

Dean frowned. "So our witch isn't here anymore? She's moved on? That doesn't make sense. Killers don't generally tend to like leaving their hunting grounds."

Sam cleared his throat. "Actually, it might be because of us." And then he relayed everything he had learned over the past few days, something he hadn't had a chance to do with Dean yet. He stopped when Lily deposited their drinks, then finished his thoughts. "If Collins knew we were Hunters, then it's fair someone else might, too. We might have spooked her with our being here."

Bobby nodded. "It's been known to happen before, and you boys have earned quite a reputation in the supernatural world, on both sides. She might have recognized you."

Dean shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, why would a couple of Hunters ghosting into town be enough to spook a witch? Dude, she boils the blood of her victims! Why not just mark us as targets?"

A cleared throat announced the presence of their waitress, holding Bobby's steak and Sam's chef's salad. She grabbed another plate from the table behind her and deposited it in front of Dean.

Looking down at what was clearly a clubhouse, Dean frowned. Lily seemed to stare him down, daring him to admit in front of the others that he hadn't ordered a decent meal. "Rita said," was her only explanation. Sighing his defeat, Dean waved her away.

Bobby hadn't missed a thing. Sam had filled him in on what had been happening with his brother on the way in, and had also mentioned how overprotective the older woman who owned the Bed seemed to be of him. He knew Dean would find it damned annoying, but he couldn't help the amusement it brought. Still, he had enough self preservation not to mention it.

"Dean, you're pretty good at finding patterns. Have you noticed anything?" Bobby asked. Pretty good was a bit of an understatement. Dean Winchester could do amazing things with numbers, and seemed to have a natural knack for putting together pieces that wouldn't normally fit. His outside the box thinking had been the basis of many of John's hunts. They made a good team, these boys. As long as Sam could dig up all the information, Dean could put it all together amazingly quickly, often times with stunning results.

Dean blushed. "Actually, Sam's got the lead on this one. I was a little indisposed," he admitted, choosing to focus on taking a bite of his clubhouse. He had to admit, it was good.

"But you're sure you're dealing with a witch?"

Dean nodded. "Hundred percent. Nothing else adds up." What he wasn't so sure of, was that they were only dealing with one. Something like this was either a very powerful and old witch, or a coven.

Sam shook his head. "I can't even put together a list of suspects, except to say that _everyone_ in this town is a suspect. It's proving to be difficult to narrow it down."

"Yeah, but now we've got the tool we need," Dean announced. Both men looked at him questioningly. "We just have to find out who went to Rapid City last night. For once, this small town crap is going to work in our favor."

"So where do we start?" Sam asked.

"This Rita woman seems to have the dirt on everyone. Do you think you could find out from her?" Bobby put in.

Dean grimaced. He didn't relish actually having to sit down and talk to her. She was too perceptive, and frankly, almost every conversation involved having to discuss his health problems. He was sure that his toast order was going to get back to her, and earn him a lecture to boot.

Sam chuckled at his brothers sour expression, and decided to let him off the hook. "I'll see what I can find out tomorrow while Dean's at work."

Bobby frowned. "At work? I didn't think this would take going under cover."

Dean cleared his throat. "It doesn't. It takes money, and for that I had to get a job. Don't look so shocked, old man, it's not the first honest days work I've done."

Bobby chuckled and went back to his meal. They ate in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Lily cleared their plates and they left. Standing outside the Bed, Bobby said good bye now that he had passed along his information. To be honest, he had wanted to see how Dean was doing for himself, and couldn't have anticipated the brothers being apart. He'd developed an elaborate plan to separate them long enough to get the story from Sam, but had been surprised when it wasn't needed. That, alone, told him all he needed to know.

Both boys watched their old friend drive away. Sam wished he could have stayed, but knew that Bobby was working non-stop to try and figure out what was happening with his brother. Glancing at the man, he wished they could have stayed at Bobby's. A part of him even wished their father was still alive to tell him what to do. _He_ wouldn't have let Dean starve himself to death. _He_ would have found out what this was by now, and a way to stop it.

"Stop it," Dean ordered suddenly.

"Stop what?"

"Staring at me like I'm gonna disappear any minute. I'm fine. Why'd you do it, Sammy? Why'd you call Bobby?"

Sam frowned at the tone of anger in Dean's voice. "I swear, I didn't. He surprised me too."

Dean sighed and ran a hand through his short spikes. "So, has he found anything?"

"The death in Rapid City-" Sam stopped when he realized that wasn't what his brother was talking about. He shook his head. "No, Dean. He hasn't found anything yet. What's happening to you, it's like nothing we've seen before. We don't exactly have a lot to work with," Sam hinted.

"I've told you what I know," Dean insisted.

"That's just it, Dean, I don't think you have," Sam growled in frustration.

"I haven't had a trance in two days. Maybe it's gone," Dean answered curtly.

"Or maybe you've just moved beyond that stage. Dean," Sam hesitated, hating to ask but knowing he had no choice. "It's not medical, is it? I mean, it's definitely supernatural?"

Dean frowned. That thought hadn't honestly occurred to him. Still, there was no sense in worrying about it. Either way, as things stood, there was nothing to be done, and they had a hunt to focus on. "You go speak to everyone you've met since we got here. Ask them about Rapid City. I'm going to head over to Joe's, see if he knows anything."

"Dean-"

"Sam, we've done this," Dean warned. Sam immediately backed off. He'd only heard that tone directed at him a rare few times in their lives, but it pushing it never boded well.

Dean watched his younger sibling leave in the rental truck, his shoulders tense and worried. He wished there was something he could do to help, but there wasn't. "This is for your own good, Sammy," he whispered, and was immediately thrown back to the first time he had uttered those hated words.

"_But Dean! I wanna know where you're going tonight!" Sam whined, following his older brother around as he packed an overnight bag. "And I don't wanna stay with Bobby."_

_Dean looked at his brother, feeling horrible that he couldn't reassure him that it was just a night out with some friends. The truth was, their father had called him in on a hunt he was doing as back up. Had, in fact, demanded both his boys join him._

_But Sam was too young to come, too young to see what was really out there. Knowing it and doing some research was one thing, training for it was different, but to actually see them in action? To see how dangerous what they did was? It was too soon. He would accept the consequences of showing up by himself as they came. He refused to place Sammy in that kind of situation. He wasn't ready._

"_You like staying here. There's lots of books and Bobby doesn't make you go to bed early," Dean teased, trying to lighten the mood. _

_Sam quieted. "You're going Hunting with Dad, aren't you?"_

_Dean sighed. He could never lie to his brother, so he resorted to age old tactics. Avoid the subject. "And what about that paper you have due tomorrow? You've worked hard on it."_

_But this time Sam sensed something was off. Dean was tense, as if he was itching for action. He only ever got that way before a date, a brawl, or a Hunt. And since Sam knew that his brother didn't have any current romantic affairs, and they weren't in a bar, that left the third option. The only other time he saw Dean like this was when their Dad was in danger. His face paled at the thought._

"_Is Dad okay?" Sam panicked. Dean did everything he could to hide the reality of their lifestyle from him, but he wasn't blind. He'd seen both his father and his brother laid up by injuries more than once._

_Knowing there was no way around it, Dean grasped Sam's shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. "Dad is fine, Sammy, I promise you. Okay? I'm just going out for the night. I should be back tomorrow afternoon."_

_Sam frowned. "Why can't you just tell me?"_

_Because, Dean answered in his mind, Dad calling for back up means he can't handle it alone. And that means there's a chance we might not come out of it alive, and I can't stand the thought of you having to watch a loved one die or be hurt. _

_Aloud, he answered, "Because it's really nothing to worry about."_

_Furious, Sam violently pushed his brothers hands off of him. "You're treating me like a kid, Dean. Just like Dad does. I'm not stupid! I know what goes on out there!" He stopped, reading the truth in Dean's posture. "He called for both of us, didn't he? You're protecting me!" The last was shot out in a vicious accusation._

"_Listen to me, Sammy. Yes, okay? Dad called for us. He needs back up on a Hunt. And no, you're not coming. You're not ready to see. Patching us up, that's different. But that feeling of actually watching someone you love being hurt by some evil thing, there's nothing like it, Sammy. It's the worst feeling you'll ever have. And someday, you _will_ have it. I can't protect you from that. But I can delay it," Dean insisted. "I know you think you're ready, and maybe you are, but _I'm_ not. So you're staying here. It's for your own good, trust me."_

_He left without another word, leaving a stunned little brother sitting on the bed. He never saw the tears, never saw Bobby standing outside the door, listening. He dropped the duffel bag of weapons into the backseat and sped off. _

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Sam leaned his forehead against the steering wheel in defeat. He'd talked to everyone they knew, and even some he didn't, but no one had been to Rapid City last night. Fred Collins had actually had a mild panic attack at the very thought of returning to the source of his most gruesome nightmares.

Every lead they'd had was now at a dead end. Starting the truck, he headed back to the Bed, looking forward to another home cooked meal. He hoped Dean had had better luck with Joe. It sucked when they had to start over again. This case was proving to be a little more challenging than he'd thought, and despite his intentions, it wasn't leaving him a lot of research time.

There was no progress being made in either case, and Dean was getting worse. Even more frustrating was his older siblings insistence on protecting him from what was happening. Was it possible it was medical? Was that why Dean had avoided the line of questioning earlier today?

His heart sped up as he parked in front of the Bed and noticed Dr. Brown's car was there. He ran inside, a part of him hoping with everything he had that Brown was there for the pie. But there was no one in the dining room, so he raced upstairs to their room.

Rita and Dr. Brown were both standing in the room, talking. Dean was sitting in a chair, completely motionless, his hands gripping the arm rests of the chairs so hard he had white knuckles. His lips moved silently, as though he were speaking to someone, but his eyes were blank.

"What happened?" Sam demanded, immediately rushing over to kneel in front of his brother, knowing even as he did so that there was nothing he could do. Dean was deep in his trance. "How long has he been like this?"

"Lily came out for her break just after you boys left the Pub and found him unconscious on the ground at the door here. He woke up just as we were getting up here, but then went into this state," Rita quickly explained. "We sat him in the chair, since he was having trouble breathing lying down, but he hasn't moved since."

"Son, has this happened before?" Dr. Brown asked.

Sam chewed his bottom lip. "Dr. Brown, have you ever seen anything like this before?"

Brown frowned. "Nothing like this. It's possible he's having petit mal seizures, but it's almost unheard of for patients to lose consciousness, especially _before_ it happens. Has his behavior changed?"

Sam swallowed. "A little."

"It's possible we might be looking at a brain tumor of some sort, or an arterial blockage. But there are a hundred different things it could be. He needs to be in a hospital, son," Brown suggested gently, somehow instinctively knowing that it wasn't going to be taken well. "I need to run some tests."

Sam closed his eyes, hating the decision he was about to make. "It won't do any good. As soon as he comes around, he'll sign himself out. I appreciate your help, Dr. Brown, but there's nothing you can do for him."

"Sam, I strongly advise-"

"Sam, you should-"

"Please," Sam interrupted both of them, who had spoken at the same time. "Please, just leave. I appreciate your help, but he'll be fine. He's always fine."

Both hesitated, but went at a glare from him. Once they were gone, he turned back to his brother. "Dean, please. I'm scared," he whispered. "What if they're right, and this isn't something we can handle on our own? Please, I need you to tell me what to do."

Tears gathered in his eyes when his brother didn't respond. He choked back a sob, but continued talking, hoping it would somehow help. "I remember you told me once that the worst thing I would ever feel was watching someone I loved get hurt. You were right, Dean, and I'm not sure how much longer I can do this. Knowing you made that deal was bad enough, but this- I've never been so scared in my life, Dean. I need you now, I need you to come back to me."

He sniffled, and tried to smile. "Do you remember that time Dad went out to hunt the poltergeist in New York? He took Bobby with him and it was just the two of us. Everything was going great until I got sick. You took care of me. I swear, you didn't sleep for a week because every time I woke up, you were there, talking to me, calming me. I was feverish for most of it, and I don't remember a lot, but I do remember that you were always there."

"You have to let _me_ take care of _you_, Dean, just this once," Sam begged. "Please come back. Tell me what's happening."

He talked for what felt like hours, remembering the good times they'd had, the funny, and the sad. Anything to try and connect with his brother. Nothing worked. Those greens remained blank, the death grip on the chair never changing. He ignored the knock on the door that could only have been Rita.

Sam didn't know when he'd fallen asleep, but he when he woke, his head was on Dean's lap, and his body was stiff. Glancing out the window, he noticed it was dark. Almost afraid of what he might find, he finally looked up at his brother, who had his head down.

"Dean?" Sam cried out, filled with hope. He put a hand to the back of Dean's neck, and was surprised by the raging heat he felt. "Dean, please."

"Sammy?" Dean did his best to lift his head, but found it was harder than it ever had been before. His whole body felt weighed down with lead. He could feel his muscles shake at the effort.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Can you get up?" He'd seen Dean injured often enough to know that his brother was feeling weak, that he couldn't really do much on his own yet. Sam was hesitant to help him lie down after what Brown had said about his breathing, but it was obvious he didn't have much of a choice as he watched Dean struggle.

Dean tried to force his body to obey his command to stand, but he couldn't. Every beat of his heart came with a throb in his head. It was uncomfortably hot in the room, and his skin felt like it was crawling with insects. It was harder still to keep coherent thoughts together. Everything seemed to slip through, like he could reach but couldn't quite catch it.

"It's okay," Sam soothed. "I'll help you up. Let's get you on the bed." He gently helped his brother lie down on his side on the bed. Dean's eyes were glazed with fever, but they were focused. "Can you breathe okay?"

Dean nodded, closing his eyes. Sam could see the tell tale lines in the corners of his eyes that always told him Dean was in pain, even if he wouldn't say anything. He immediately went across the hall to the bathroom and gathered a bowl of water and a cloth. Grateful that Rita was asleep, he slipped back into their room, locking the door.

Sitting on the bed next to his brother, Sam carefully dipped and wrung out the cloth, placing it on Dean's forehead. Taking advantage of his bewildered state, Sam leaned low to whisper, "Dean, tell me what happened. What did you see?"

He felt Dean tense, trying to and move away from him, but the small single bed didn't allow him much room for his escape. "Please, Dean, tell me?" Sam begged.

"Flashes," Dean murmured, giving a sigh of appreciation as Sam dipped the cloth again.

"Of what?"

Dean screwed his eyes shut even tighter, and Sam wondered if he was fighting the headache he obviously had, or himself. "Don't know," Dean ground out.

His breathing hitched, and Sam realized that Dean was determined to protect him from this. Chewing his lip, Sam knew that if he continued to push, he would eventually get the answers he needed, but it would put Dean in further distress. Not trusting what that could do to his brother's delicate condition, he made the decision to let it go.

"Shhh, Dean. I won't ask. I just need you to relax," Sam soothed gently, reinforcing it with a grip on Dean's shoulder. His brother was rarely ill, but he knew that touch had always helped center Dean when he was feverish.

He kept up the contact and quiet murmuring until he was sure Dean had fallen asleep. Then he settled in for a long night of vigilance. He would call Bobby in the morning and tell him what happened. He couldn't do this alone anymore.

The cry that pierced the room shocked Sam out of his thoughts. Shit, was Dean having another nightmare? No, there was _pain_ in that cry. Dean was trying to curl in on himself, covering his abdomen. Another scream had Sam up and moving, trying to force his brother to lie on his back.

"Dean! Come on!" Sam shouted, trying to get through to him. He crinkled his nose as the smell of burning flesh rushed in with his next breath. Beyond the sounds of Dean's next scream, he could hear sizzling. "What the hell?" Sam demanded, fighting back his gag reflex and putting all his strength into rolling his brother.

Once he'd succeeded, he pushed up Dean's shirt, and swore. There was a symbol that had been somehow branded into Dean's chest, right above his heart. Holding his brother's shoulders down with one arm, it took a minute for Sam to realize that something had changed.

Dean wasn't breathing.


	7. Nice thing about engines

AN: Another clue handed out. Contest stands until Chap. 8.

Sorry for the delay. My internet was down. I was going nuts! But, here it is! Thanks for reading, and thanks once again to all who reviewed!

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Chapter 7

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Sam instantly panicked. "No! No! Dean, come on!" He checked for a pulse, and was relieved to find it racing. It wasn't good, but Dean's heart was still beating. That would have to be enough for now. Without a second thought, he tilted back Dean's head and began mouth to mouth, keeping his eyes on Dean's chest to make sure the air he was forcing into Dean's lungs was getting in.

Two breaths, check the pulse. Two breaths, check pulse. Sam's panic increased as he realized his brother's pulse was slowing down. "Damnit, Dean, please don't do this," Sam begged, going back to his measured routine.

After what seemed like forever, and when Sam could barely feel any pulse at all, Dean sucked in a breath on his own, coughing violently. Sam sat back in relief to catch his own breath. Scrubbing his shaking hands over his face, he couldn't believe how close it had been. He was disconcerted to see Dean was unconscious, but relieved to find a more normal pulse when he checked.

It was then he became aware of a pounding on the door. Remembering he'd locked it on his way back from the bathroom, Sam opened it a fraction, unsurprised to find Rita standing there in her bathrobe.

"What the hell is going in here?" she demanded.

"Dean had a nightmare, that's all. He's okay now," Sam explained, doing his best to keep himself calm.

"Should I call Dr. Brown?"

He knew he should say yes, get Dean to a hospital. This was so much worse than a little lost time. But instinct was telling him it wouldn't solve anything. Heavy with uncertainty and guilt, he forced out his answer. "No, he'll be fine now. He just needs some sleep. Thank you for checking on us, and I'm sorry he woke you up."

Rita's features were still hard with suspicion, but she nodded. "I'll bring him up some breakfast in the morning."

Sam gave his thanks again, then closed the door. Rita hadn't bought a word of it, especially not after what had happened earlier, but he would deal with that later. Going back to his brother, he again checked his pulse and breathing, relieved to find them even. Even his fever was abating.

Pushing his shirt back up, Sam examined the mark that had been branded into Dean's chest. Frowning, he realized he recognized it. Without thought for the hour, he picked up his cell.

"What?" came the gruff answer.

"Bobby," Sam started, then had to collect himself. He was a little lost, and didn't know what to do, but he didn't want to fall apart.

"Sam? What happened? Is Dean okay?"

Sam immediately told the older hunter everything that had happened since he'd left. "I think I know the symbol, it looks like Mercury. The stick figure with horns and no feet. Bobby, what the hell is happening to my brother?"

"I wish I knew, Sam, but I'll look into it. Get some rest, and I'll call you tomorrow."

Sam hung up, knowing their friend wouldn't be getting anymore sleep tonight. He almost felt guilty when he laid down next to Dean, making sure his hand was resting lightly next to his chest so he could monitor his breathing.

It took only moments before he was asleep, the roller coaster of emotions of the day having taken their toll on him.

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Sam groaned as a tiny jingle penetrated his deep sleep. He tried to ignore the annoying sound of Metallica's Unforgiven, but there was nothing for it. He was going to kill his brother for messing with his ring tone again. It was with that thought that the memories from the previous night flooded back to him. Dean! Sitting up abruptly, Sam realized the bed was empty save for himself.

He grabbed his phone off of his hip, having fallen asleep still dressed. "Hello?" His voice was still shaky, and he tried to calm it.

"Sam? What's wrong? How's Dean?" Bobby demanded.

Sam looked around the room, and saw plenty of evidence that his brother was long gone. "Uh, don't know."

"What do you mean, _you don't know_?" Bobby accused, making Sam wince. "After everything that happened last night, how could you let him out of your sight? What were you thinking?"

"Whoa! First of all, he slipped out while I was asleep. He's probably just downstairs." He didn't believe it for a second. Dean's clothes were changed, and their first aid kit was open. Nope, Dean probably wasn't anywhere near the Bed. "Second, even if he wanted to go, there isn't a whole lot I could have done to stop him!" Sam defended himself.

Bobby acknowledged the truth of that by moving on. "That mark you told me about? It's used a lot by alchemists. Mercury symbolized the spirit imprisoned in matter, communication and duality in opposition. Then there's also the mythology. Mercury is the Roman version of the Greek Olympian god Hermes, the messenger. In Egypt he was known as Thoth, who carried the souls of the dead to the underworld. From the Zodiac, Mercury represents communication, the mind, memory, expression, language and intelligence."

Sam frowned. "The common pattern being communication. Do you think something is trying to communicate with Dean? Or through him?"

Bobby sighed, and Sam could almost picture him running a hand over his face. "I don't know, Sam. It would sure help if your brother would open up a little. But I've looked through everything I can find, and I can't find any mention of any spirit or demon using these methods to communicate. If you hadn't been there last night, Dean could have died. Killing the messenger isn't usually part of the game, at least not until the message has been delivered."

"Dean's more determined than ever to keep this from me. I don't think we're going to get much out of him. But thanks for looking, Bobby, at least we've got something to work with."

"Call me the minute you have anything more, and Sam?"

Sam closed his eyes. "I know, Bobby. If he gets worse, I'll call off this hunt and hightail it back to your place, even if I have to drag him behind the car to do it."

"Just so we understand each other," Bobby agreed, then hung up.

Sam flipped his own shut, hanging his head. If they managed to live through this, he was going to kill his brother. As slowly, and as painfully as he could invent. And right this second? He was feeling pretty inventive.

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Dean looked up as he heard the now familiar rumble of the rental truck. Sam was coming up on them at a fast clip. Joe just grinned at him, then turned back to the tractor they were working on. With a sigh, Dean cleaned his hands up as best he could using the soiled rag, then walked out toward the parking lot. He frowned as he watched his brother jump out practically before the truck had stopped.

"Ease up there, Sammy. You trash that thing, we have to pay for it," Dean scolded lightly, not missing the furious look on Sam's face. He could take a guess at the cause of it, but wasn't feeling particularly generous today.

"Really? And how much is it gonna cost us to replace _you_?" Sam snarled. He was at the end of his rope. First the thrashing from Bobby this morning, then Rita had added her two cents in as well, giving him a long lecture on the importance of caring for family, especially if said family had given up their own lives to care for you. Apparently Dean had once again slipped out without breakfast.

Dean bit back the instant quip that lay on the tip of his tongue. It didn't take a genius to figure out Sam wasn't really in the best mood for his particular brand of self deprecating humor. "What's wrong, Sammy?"

Sam glared at him. "What's _wrong_? Well, let's see, yesterday you collapsed in front of the Bed, then went into one of your trances for hours. You finally come out of it, end up with a raging fever, then while you're unconscious, you somehow manage to get the mark of Mercury branded into your chest. Then, let's see, what else? Oh yeah, you quit _breathing_! I spend the night hovering on the edge of a panic attack, finally fall asleep, then lo and behold, I wake up and find you gone! Bobby and Rita have each ripped me a new one this morning, during which I finally find out you went to _work_. You know what, Dean? I don't know why you think something might be _wrong_!"

Dean swallowed. He _had_ noticed the mark this morning. It was hard to miss. It felt like it was still being burnt into his skin. It was constant, and no amount of ointments from the first aid kit would ease it. But he hadn't known about the rest of it. Rita had frowned at him on his way out the door, but hadn't said anything.

His brother was breathing hard, and Dean could tell Sam was well and truly worked up. He knew what Sam wanted from him, but he wasn't willing to give it. Not just yet. So he did what he did best. Changed the subject.

"I've got a lead on our witch," Dean started, but was cut off by the swing of Sam's fist. The action shocked him so much it took a moment or two to feel that it had connected with his jaw. "What the hell, Sammy?"

"You almost died last night, and the best you can offer me is a _lead_?" Sam growled, moving forward as though getting ready to hit him again. Surprised, Dean backed up a little.

"You okay over there, Dean?" Joe called out with a frown on his face.

Dean waved him off. "We're good. I'm taking fifteen."

Joe nodded and went back to work, throwing the occasional glance their way. He didn't know what was going on between the brothers, but he'd developed a soft spot for Dean. The kid had a way with engines that seemed almost magical. It was a shame he wouldn't be staying. Joe would have liked to keep him on, even with his poor health.

"Sam, what do you want me to say? I don't remember any of what you just described," Dean offered, trying to placate his furious younger sibling.

"What _do_ you remember?"

Dean thought hard, then shrugged. "Honestly, standing in front of the Bed watching you leave in a snit. Then waking up this morning. Speaking of which, did you get around to talking to everyone?"

"Dean," Sam ground out between clenched teeth. "It didn't bother you in the least that you lost that much time? Or that you woke up with a fairly specific brand on your chest?"

Sam narrowed his eyes when his brother looked away. Ah, so Dean remembered more than he was letting on, and was once again going to keep him in the dark. He let out a huff of breath and spread his arms wide. "Fine, Dean, if that's the way you want it, you got it. You want to deal with this on your own, then go ahead. I'm going back to Bobby's tomorrow morning."

"Sam-"

"No, Dean! I'm tired of this! Do you have any idea what this is doing to me? What part of you could have _died_ last night did you miss in my little rant? Bobby and I can't help you if you won't tell us what's going on. I could force you into going to a hospital, but you'll just sign yourself out anyway. I obviously can't force you to talk to me. So it's going to keep happening, and I'm _not_ going to sit around to watch you commit what amounts to suicide for the sake of your damned pride."

Sam walked back to the truck, slamming the door as he got in. Dean watched as his brother spun the tires in his hurry to get away from him. Realizing he hadn't had a chance to get whatever information Sam had gathered yesterday, nor tell his brother of his own lead, Dean headed back to where Joe was watching with sympathetic eyes.

"Bit of a spat?" the older mechanic asked.

Dean grunted, flexing his jaw. "That's the nice thing about engines, don't you think? They don't talk back, and if they make a sound you don't like, you fix it."

Joe laughed. "Amen!"

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Glancing at the falling sun light, Dean decided he needed a cold beer after the day he'd had. The tractor was finally back in one piece and ready to be delivered tomorrow morning. Sam hadn't reappeared, or even answered his cell, but he wasn't worried. It was hardly the first time he'd gotten the silent treatment. He didn't know if Sam would make good on his threat to leave in the morning, but in the end, it didn't really matter. He didn't know why it was so important to keep Sam from what was happening to him, but he felt on an instinctual level that this was something he would have to deal with himself. He had made his choice, and no amount of Sam's conniptions was going to change his mind.

Changing his direction to the Pub, Dean was surprised to find it almost empty. Cole was cleaning behind the bar, and Lily was busy serving the few patrons there were. Choosing the bar instead of a table, Dean sat on the stool with a smile.

"It's a little dead in here, isn't it?" he asked the odd looking bartender.

Cole grinned. "Actually, it's a bit early. Everyone is home being fed, then they'll start making their way here in about an hour."

Dean nodded. "Beer, please. Draft."

"Only got the local stuff," Cole warned.

"It'll do." As soon as the glass had hit the bar in front of him, he took a long haul, giving a sigh of satisfaction as it scratched an itch he hadn't realized he'd had. "This is good," he complimented.

"Rita's really picky about it. She wants to support the locals, but won't serve crap."

"She's a spit fire, isn't she?" Dean chuckled. Still, he was here on business. "So, Cole, I hear you went up to Rapid City the other night. You're not looking for a new job, are you? Rita would be devastated."

Cole chuckled. "Nah, was up there with my girl. She wanted to go, said she had something to take care of. It worked out well, since I wanted to watch the game."

Dean offered his most charming grin. "Lucky guy, to have a girl like that. I can't believe I haven't heard from everyone else who this wonder woman is."

Cole blushed. "Well, technically, we're not supposed to be dating. We're keeping it pretty quiet."

Dean laughed. "You're not robbing the cradle or anything, are you?"

"God no!" Cole grinned. "She's married, at the moment. She's had her problems in the past and ended up with a real loser. The courts are taking their sweet time about it, though, and can't offer her protection from him yet. That's why we're keeping it low."

Dean's face crumpled in genuine disgust. He could see the picture being drawn, and had no use for men who abused women. "Well, I'm glad she's got someone like you to help her through it."

Cole nodded. "It's tough, but we manage. She's an awesome girl, and definitely worth the extra effort. Sometimes life just throws us a shitty deal, right?"

Dean raised his glass in agreement. He knew that all too well.

"_Sammy, you have to go!" Dean shouted as he raced into the bedroom. He could hear their father in the shower. Given John's current state, he could guess pretty accurately at what was coming next. _

_Sammy looked up from the book he was reading. "Why, Dean?" His young voice tinged with a reflection of the panic he could sense from his brother. _

"_Dad and I have something we have to take care. Please, Sammy. Here, take some money and go see if Martha's kid wants to head up to the arcade with you." He shoved whatever dollar bills he had in his pocket at his brother, glancing back at the bathroom as he heard the water shut off. _

"_Dean, is everything okay?"_

"_It will be, Sammy, as soon as you leave. Now please, go. Just trust me, this once?"_

_That got an immediate response as Sam jumped off the bed and grabbed his jacket. Dean followed him to the door, holding it open as he turned back to his older brother. "Dean, promise me you're gonna be okay."_

_Dean offered his patented grin. "I'm gonna be fine, Sammy. You come back in about two hours, okay? Dad and I should have taken care of it by then."_

_He had barely closed the door when their father emerged from the bathroom, dressed again. Dean couldn't help but glance at the large silver belt buckle. Looking back up at John's face, he knew things had just gotten a whole lot worse. _

"_Where's Sammy?" John demanded drunkenly, taking another pull from the bottle in his hand._

_Dean forced himself to stand up straight. "Out with a friend. He'll be back in a couple of hours."_

_John's face thundered. "And you let him go? Alone? Without asking me?"_

_Dean shrugged. "You were in the shower. He's with Martha's kid. He'll be fine."_

"_You just let him walk out the door? You _know_ what's out there, Dean. What the hell were you thinking?" _

_Dean swallowed the fear that rose in his throat as John's hands automatically started unbuckling his belt. He quickly reached behind him and locked the door, making sure Sam couldn't walk in on what was about to happen._

"Buddy? You okay?" Cole asked, squeezing the hand he had laid on Dean's shoulder, jerking the hunter out of his thoughts. He winced at the action pulled the still burning brand on his chest.

Blinking his eyes, Dean forced a grin. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking."

Cole hesitated before nodding. "Okay, but I think maybe that's it for you."

Trying not be offended, Dean smiled and took another haul from his beer. "Only wanted the one anyway." Lie. He'd wanted to get stark raving drunk. Anything to avoid Sam that much longer. The memory stayed lingering on the edge of his consciousness. It was weird, how they seemed to come on him lately, more vision than memory.

He could have sworn he was actually back in that dank motel room, watching his younger self get the living snot beaten out of him. His back still had the scars from the gouges that belt buckle had made. John had had a nasty hunt that night, and lost an innocent. A young girl. Dean knew himself how that could eat you up inside. His father had needed an outlet. He was only glad that he'd managed to get Sam out of the room. Sam had been a bright kid, but he wouldn't have understood, back then, the kind of pressure their father was under. Everyone needed someone to vent out to, and he had willingly stepped up to the plate.

Finishing his beer, and unhappy that his lead had turned out to be a dud, Dean knew he'd have to face his brother sooner or later. Still, he needed the girlfriend's name. Turning back one more time, he grinned at Cole.

"You know, I've known a lot of women in your girlfriend's position. I'm just glad she's found the strength to get away from it, and I'm glad you're sticking with her. A lot of women get sucked under in those situations, can't break away. She's a lucky girl."

Cole's grin was full of pride as he beamed. "Nah, I'm the one that's lucky. Ly deserves so much better than what she's been through."

Dean nodded. "I'm sure she does."

Ly. A nickname, obviously, but at least it was a place to start. He didn't think they'd come across anyone named Lydia, which was the safest assumption with a nickname like that. He would have to make sure to ask Joe tomorrow if he knew anyone by that name. Of course, if Sam actually left, he'd lose the cover of investigating for the article, but Dean was nothing if not quick on his feet.

Standing outside the door of the Pub, he heard a sound from the small alley between the buildings. Passing it off as a cat, he started next door, but stopped again when that cat let out a very human sound of distress.

Without hesitating, Dean squeezed into the small, dark space. Coming out the other side, he looked around, and was surprised to see a woman kneeling on the ground. Pulling out the gun he kept strapped to his ankle, he rushed over to her, keeping an eye on his surroundings.

Kneeling down, he placed a hand on her shoulder. He couldn't see her face through her hair, but could feel her shaking shoulders. "Easy," he soothed. "What happened? Is someone here?"

The woman raised her head and looked him straight in the eye, making him gasp in recognition. Before he could swing his gun to cover her, she blew a fine powder in his face. Staggering back, Dean was surprised to feel like the buildings were rushing in to crush him as he choked. He didn't even have time to yell out before his world went black.


	8. They Can't Survive Without Us

AN: It might be a while for the next update. Real life just keeps getting in the way! I appreciate your patience, and don't give up! I'll update as soon as I can. It shouldn't be that difficult, since it's already written, but uploading, that last proof read, cutting out the chapter from the story, it all takes time I just don't have these days.

No one guessed the witch, but I love how inventive people were with their reasonings, lol. If it hadn't already been written, I might have been tempted to go in a different direction. Sadly, it's against my general nature to change what's already been done.

Thank you once again to all who read and review!

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Chapter 8

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Sam hung his head as he looked down at his packed duffel bag. Could he really do it? Could he really leave his brother when he was so obviously in trouble? Sure, he'd walked out before, but this was different, and even he knew it. Walking out to pursue his education, or their father, was one thing. Walking out in a snit would be something new, even for him. He looked up as a knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts. He hadn't thought to lock it, and wished he had as Rita didn't wait for an answer before waltzing in.

She took in his ragged appearance and the bag on the bed in one swift glance. She sighed. "Family isn't always easy, you know. Trouble with blood is that even if you walk out now, it's still there, coursing through your veins. And that'll lead you back to him time and time again."

Sam closed his eyes. "I know."

"He'd do anything for you. Even I can see that. You owe him a lot more than running out on him when he needs you for once," Rita stated shortly.

Sam laughed, and if there was a hint of hysteria to it, he didn't care. "I've tried. He won't tell me what's going on, and I can't watch it happen anymore. He won't let me help. He's so bound and determined to protect me that he doesn't seem to care what it costs him, or me, for that matter."

Rita chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Have you ever considered, Sam, that it's not really _you_ he's protecting this time? That it's possible he's just as scared as you are?"

Sam stared at her, surprised. Could it really be that simple? His first instinct was to answer that Dean wasn't afraid of anything, but he'd learned over the past few years that it wasn't true. There were things that absolutely terrified his brother. Losing family was always first on that short list, but running a close second was coming up against something he couldn't defeat.

Rita continued. "I don't pretend to know Dean very well, either of you, matter of fact, but I see a lot of my Bill in him. Bill's sister died in a car accident, and it nearly destroyed him. But he wouldn't let me help. Our marriage almost fell apart, after that. He was so determined to handle it alone. I was at the end of my rope with him. I was so tired of fighting to keep us together alone."

Intrigued despite himself, Sam sat on the edge of the bed. He swallowed. "How did you win?"

Rita chuckled. "I didn't. It occurred to me, eventually, that he had developed a fear of losing me, too. He was pushing me away, determined that it wouldn't hurt so much when I did finally leave. It was hard, but I stayed with him, kept quiet, and didn't push him. Then one day, he opened his eyes, and I was still there. It broke him all over again. Of everything we had suffered since the accident, that day was the hardest I have ever lived through. But live through it we did, and had a wonderful thirty years together."

Sam closed his eyes. His brother had sold his soul to bring him back from the dead, and he had actually been considering leaving. Guilt lay thick on his shoulders as the realization of how selfish he had been dawned on him.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he whispered. "You must miss him terribly."

Rita surprised him again by chuckling. "I do, more than anything. Especially having Dean around, it's like watching my Bill in action all over again. So protective, so giving, and so fiercely loyal. But in the grand scheme of things, I'm glad he went first. He didn't have to worry about me when he passed. Given the chance, I was more than capable of looking after myself. It's why they love us so much, Sam, because we _let_ ourselves need them. And they know it. But it doesn't go both ways. We can survive without our protectors, but our protectors, they can't survive without us. They don't know how to want for themselves, to live for themselves. That's our job."

It was eerily familiar to the speech Bobby had given him before they left, and there was no less truth in it now than there had been then.

"It's a double edged sword," Rita continued, smiling gently at the lost young man. "We want our freedom from them, but somewhere, deep down, we understand that freedom will mean their end, even as we walk out. Their love, though, is so deep, so unconditional, that they let us go. Every time. Because that's what we need or want, even if it destroys them."

"But we always come back," Sam whispered miserably. "They always draw us back."

Rita nodded. "As we let ourselves need them, we protect them _from_ us in return, from losing themselves in us. It's a heavy responsibility, a duty, and a privilege we willingly take on, but we both love and hate them for making it necessary. Like I said, a double edged sword. It's a complicated relationship few who haven't lived it would ever truly understand."

Sam smiled gratefully at the old woman. "Seventy three years of lessons passed down in a ten minute conversation?" He hesitated, but he wanted to know. "So why didn't you have a funeral for Bill?"

"I expected that would come up." Rita sighed, thinking to answer carefully. "Another facet of their love, Sam, is their capacity to let us be incredibly selfish. In every way that counted, I'd had Bill all to myself for just under fifty years. Well, death counts and I didn't want to share him. So I had him cremated in Rapid City. His urn is on my dresser. In my own way, I feel like he's still watching over me. No one around here knowns that, but I suspect you, of all people, would understand."

"Yeah, I guess I kinda do," Sam admitted, his mind wandering to what was coming. When the time came, could he let Dean go? He didn't think so. He was determined to stop this deal from coming due if it was the last thing he did. He couldn't do that if he ran away now.

Rita stood. "You're good boys, where it counts. Give him time. Sooner or later, he'll realize he can't do this on his own. Sometimes the best way to deal with them is to wait them out. They love with such unyielding ferocity that they can seem indestructible, but they have one weakness, one flaw."

"They don't know how to _be_ loved," he finished. It was a truth about his brother he'd had to accept years ago. "Thanks, Rita," Sam replied honestly. She nodded and closed the door behind her. Sam quickly unpacked, not wanting Dean to know he had seriously considered making good on his threat to leave. As much as he hated to admit it, his brother had his own share of demons to exorcise, including deep abandonment issues.

His cell phone rang about halfway through unpacking. Expecting it to be his brother again, he frowned at the caller ID.

"Hello?"

"Sam? This is Joe Springs. I just got a call from Anne Holders. I guess Randy is having some kind of fit. He's locked himself in the library and won't come out."

Sam frowned. He knew how dangerous that could be for the ill teen. "I'm sorry to hear that, but why-?"

"He wants to talk to you. Could you maybe go out there?" Joe requested. "I know you've got your own stuff on your plate right now, but Randy really shouldn't get worked up like this."

"No, no, it's okay, Joe. I'll head out there now. Is Dean on his way?"

"Son, Dean left work about an hour ago. Probably headed for the Pub, given what happened between the two of you. I tried calling his cell, but he didn't answer."

Sam sighed. It would hardly be the first time Dean had sought out the bottom of a bottle after a fight. If he followed true to form, he was probably permanently occupied for the night. "It's okay. I'll leave now."

"Thanks, Sam. I appreciate this. We may not handle it right, but this whole town has a bit of a weak spot for the kid."

"No problem, Joe." Sam hung up, frowning. Grabbing the keys to the rental, he raced out the door. Truth be told, he'd developed his own soft spot for Randy Holders.

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"Randy? Honey?" Anne called from outside the library door. "Your friend, Sam is here. Will you let him in?"

"Only him!" Randy called back. Sam glanced at the middle aged woman standing beside him, and could see her worry.

"It's okay, Anne. I'll talk to him," he assured her.

The door opened a fraction, and Sam slipped in, surprised to see the normally comfortable library had been turned upside down. Books littered every space of the floor, as though Randy had been searching frantically for something.

He closed the door behind him, sensitive to the desperate mood of his young friend. "Randy? Are you all right?"

The teen seemed to have worked himself into quite a state. "I'm sorry, Sam, I didn't know who else to call."

"It's okay, really. Just tell me what's happening."

"You have to promise not to laugh at me!" Randy insisted, for the first time sounding his young fourteen years.

"Randy, I promise you, I'm the last person who would laugh at anything you have to say," Sam assured.

"Professor Knight came over for my lesson this afternoon. He seemed distracted. I thought at first he was just upset at something, and let it slide. Then he gave me this lesson on witchcraft in the 1800's. He told me about cleansing rituals. At first, I didn't think anything of it. He goes off on tangents sometimes, and we don't really follow any sort of normal curriculum."

Randy looked desperately at Sam, as though seeking forgiveness. "I'm sorry, Sam, if I had figured it out earlier-"

"Figured what out?"

"One of the cleansing rituals he had described sounded very familiar. When I made the connection to Marie Miller and the others, I made a comment, comparing the similarities. He went off on a rant about keeping the town pure, how those seeking to pollute Eden deserved to be punished. I was scared, I didn't know what to do. I pretended my comment had been merely in interest."

Sam frowned, making the same connection Randy had. "You think Professor Knight is the killer?"

"He's got the knowledge, Sam, and evidently the motive. The only part I couldn't connect with him is how he got in the door. All the victims had willingly let their attacker in. The ranch hands won't have known him, and Marie didn't have much to do with him. But then I started to think. Lily was one of Marie's best friends, and she's been known to have her charms with the hands, even if she's not that pretty." Randy stopped, trying to catch his breath.

"Lily? The waitress?"

Randy nodded. "She's his daughter."

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Sam cursed as he threw down his cell phone, having failed once again to get through to Dean. He had used their special ring, the one you never ignored no matter how deep in the throws of passion you were.

Dean was in trouble, that much was obvious. No matter how angry his brother might have been at him, they'd both been trained to answer that code. Sam stepped heavier on the gas peddle, not caring about the shifting dirt road beneath the tires.

He had left Randy with a promise that he would handle this. How had they missed that connection? That Lily had been the last to see the victims alive? How had the police missed it? But then, the woman herself was easy to miss. She was just a plain, quiet waitress.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he screeched to a halt outside the Pub. Running in, he scanned the room. Farmers had come in for their nightly drinks and socializing, but he couldn't see Lily anywhere. Making his way to Cole, Sam got his attention with a wave of his hand.

"Hi, Sam! What can I get for you?"

"I'm looking for my brother, have you seen him?"

"Sure. He was here a couple of hours ago. It was a little strange," Cole frowned. "I've been a Pub manager for a long time, bartender even longer. I'm pretty good at judging who can handle their liquor and who can't. I had Dean pegged as the former. But halfway through one beer, he seemed to drift off. I had to cut him off."

Sam closed his eyes. "When he drifted, did he pass out?"

"No, nothing like that. He just seemed vacant for a few minutes, as if he was lost somewhere. But it didn't last long. It took a few tries, but I got his attention. He didn't argue with me about cutting him off, or cause any problems. We actually had a nice conversation. I chalked it up to his illness making him a light weight."

"Do you know where he went?"

Cole shook his head. "Sorry. I assumed he was heading back to the Bed for supper."

"What about Lily?"

"She's in the pantry. Do you want me to ask her?" Cole offered.

"Actually, could I slip back there and ask her myself? She might have noticed something about Dean's behavior that I'll recognize." Sam lifted his eyebrows in suggestion.

Cole chuckled. "Sure, no problem. Head on back. First door to your left, then down the stairs."

"Thanks."

Sam cautiously made his way to the basement. He didn't know what Lily was capable of, but if she had managed to take down his brother, he wasn't taking any chances. His foot had just hit the bottom of the stairs when he heard her laugh.

"Dad was right. Take one, and the other will follow."

Sam frowned. "Where's Dean?"

"I'll take you to him, if you come quietly," Lily offered, stepping out from the shadows. "He said you wouldn't, but I think you're smart enough to know that there's an easy way, and a hard way to do this. Ultimately, the hard way means Dean gets hurt."

Sam ground his teeth. He really didn't have a choice. Lily held all the cards at the moment. His first priority was to get to his brother. They would deal with what happened next later. "Let's go."


	9. It's too late for him

AN: Okay, I was a bad girl in this one. Latin isn't in my arsenal of languages, so I had to use an online translator. It's probably all wrong, so I apologize now to any and all who speak Latin. Also, my apologies for not making the reveal last chapter as clear as I had thought.

As fortune would have it, pending your POV, lol, I screwed up my ankle and am on downtime. So, hopefully will be get these last few chapters out quickly.

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Chapter 9

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Dean groaned through another wave of pain. His shoulders ached from carrying the weight of his body as he hung from chains thick enough to hold a car. Blood dripped down from his cuffed wrists, cutting a sticky swathe through the sweat on his bare torso. He could touch the ground, but his knees had long since given out.

He tried arching away from the next cut, but couldn't gain any ground to push against. It only resulted in stressing his strained shoulders more. Just what the hell was the old man doing to his back? He'd only been awake for about an hour, give or take ten minutes, but it felt like days. The constant burning of the mark on his chest had long since faded to the background.

"You wanna tell me what the hell you're doing?" he spat out.

"Preparing you for your journey. Don't you ever get tired of asking the same questions?" the old man repeated calmly.

"Sorry, I'm normally on the other end of this particular stick. We should switch. I'd be happy to prove how creative I can be."

The old man chuckled. "Lily will bring your brother soon. Then the scenery will change as I purge him."

"You lay one hand on him and you'll wish you'd killed me outright," Dean swore viciously.

"You know, I almost believe that."

Just then the door opened, and Dean groaned when he watched his brother walk in of his own free will, followed by the waitress. The bastard was even blindfolded. Yep, when they got out of this, he was gonna have to give his sibling some lessons on when it's appropriate to let a girl blindfold you, and when it wasn't. Lily whipped off the cloth.

The first thing Sam saw when he entered was his brother hanging from chains and cuffs from a hook in the ceiling. His shirts had been cut off, and the Mercury mark stood out prominently on his chest. His wrists were cut up and bleeding from struggling. While he wasn't high enough off the floor that he couldn't stand, his legs didn't seem capable of holding him up. Anger coursed through him.

"Jesus, Dean. Are you all right?" Sam asked, almost cursing himself the minute the words left his mouth. It was habit, and such a ridiculous one. If they found themselves in a situation where they had to ask that question, the answer was always an obvious 'no'.

"Been better, actually. She caught you on your way out of town, I take it," Dean replied caustically.

Sam winced. Okay, so Dean was still sore about their fight. He would deal with that later. First thing was first. "Professor Knight, you wanted to see me?"

The old man nodded. "I'm sorry, Sam. But you're disturbing what should stay at rest. This town needs me."

If he hadn't had a bloody knife in his hand, Sam would almost have believed the Professor truly regretted what he'd been doing. "I don't understand what that has to do with us."

Knight snorted. "I knew who you were the minute you got into town, or rather, what you were. Hunters. I should have known someone would show up sooner or later. At first I wasn't worried. You guys are a little clueless, and you seemed to be preoccupied. Unfortunately, Randy Holders is far from stupid. I knew with him as your information base, you'd figure it out."

"Actually, we were pretty lost until your gig in Rapid City," Dean pointed out helpfully, earning a glare from Sam.

"I do good work here. You're trying to ruin that. I have to purge you of your sins."

"What sins?" Dean inquired. "I mean besides lying, credit card fraud, hustling, lusting, impersonating important people, killing evil sons of bitches like you, stealing- really, the list goes on. You're going to have be more specific."

"Dean!" Sam hissed. Baiting the bad guy seemed to be a game his brother took great pride in. He was armed, of course, but Knight and his daughter were human. He couldn't simply kill them. Not to mention the fact that Dean was essentially helpless, and an easy target. He couldn't disable both before one of them killed his brother.

Lily sidled around to stand by her father, sticking her chin out proudly. "This is a good town. The people deserve to protect what they have. You don't have any right to come in here and mess with it."

Dean grunted as Knight flashed the knife again, making a final cut. "What the hell are you doing?" Sam demanded, understanding for the first time that the Prof had been carving up his brothers back.

"As I have already explained, preparing Dean for his journey. Unfortunately, he's not mine to purge, but I can hasten his entrance to hell."

Dean snorted. "Sorry, already got a one way ticket booked. But thanks for the offer."

Sam narrowed his eyes. Something wasn't right here. Lily and Knight seemed very blasé considering he was still running around loose. They had to know he was armed, too. So why pass him off as harmless?

As if reading his mind, Knight grinned. "I'm not afraid of you. You're Hunters. You can't kill humans. Whatever you think of my methods, I'm still human."

"Sammy, you waste this piece of shit, you hear me?" Dean growled.

But he couldn't, and he knew it. Dean knew it too. It had been bred into them. You don't hurt humans. The best he could do was buy time for his backup plan to come into effect.

"What did you mean by Dean's journey? Do you know what's happening to him?" Sam asked. Knight was now moving around the room, preparing for what he assumed was the cleansing ritual. He moved with a certainty and security that grated on Sam's nerves.

"The symbol of Mercury was only the first of several that would have appeared. Dad has provided the others. Your brother is strong, and he's fighting it, but even now, he can feel it trying to drag him under. Can't you?" Lily cooed, running a fingernail over the newly made marks on his back.

Sam glanced at Dean, surprised to see the admission in his eyes. "What does that mean?"

"Lily, honey, stop teasing them. It's not polite," Knight admonished kindly.

Sam whirled to face the older man. "Look, if you know what's happening to my brother, I want some answers! Right this second, I'm not exactly picky about how I get them," he snapped.

For the first time since Sam had entered the room, the retired professor looked momentarily nervous. But it was quickly replaced with that infuriating calm. "You won't. I'm human. You _can't_. I know the rules you boys play by."

Sam looked over at his brother. Dean's head was hanging low, and it was obvious from the short, shallow pants that he was fighting to hang on- and losing. It was moments like this that he needed his brother. These people were evil. Not so much because they had killed, but because they had enjoyed doing it. Dean would have been able to look at them and see them for the monsters they were with clear vision.

Knight, at the very least. Lily seemed to be just an accomplice. His instincts were telling him she was definitely stark raving mad, but not powerful. No, Daddy was the threat here. For a moment, Sam considered trying to just take him out, but dismissed it quickly. Lily might not be a powerful witch, but she was just buckets of crazy enough to run his brother through with the knife she was playing with.

Frustrated and feeling helpless, he turned back to the father daughter tag team. "Then stop what's happening to him. If you don't, I swear you won't make it out of this room alive," Sam hissed.

Having regained his faith in Sam's limits, Knight chuckled and shrugged. "I can't stop it. No one can, it's too late, gone too far. Look at him, Sam. He's lost the fight."

Sam moved closer to his brother, his heart breaking at the blank stare. "No, Dean," he whispered, moving his hands to cup Dean's face. "You can fight this."

Knight smiled kindly at him. "No, Sam, he can't. He set his own course in this. Though I had hoped he would be able to watch your cleansing."

Sam licked his lips. He just needed a few minutes more- he hoped. "Get him- Will you please take him down?" And how that had tasted bitter on his tongue.

Knight seemed to consider the request, even as Lily pouted. The old man gave him a penetrating stare, then nodded slowly. "He's no threat to us now. Lily, take the cuffs off."

"But Dad-"

"Lily!"

The woman moved to do as she had been ordered, clearly not happy with it. Sam placed his arms around Dean's waist, ready for the sudden dead weight that fell against him. Moving slowly, he gently lowered his brother to the floor. He knew what staying in that position for any amount of time would do to tired muscles. He had hoped the pain would elicit a reaction, but there was none.

Knight nodded to himself, satisfied that he had rid the town of at least one of the young Hunters. Now it was time to move on to the next. Turning back to his preparations, he began without preamble.

"_Ego defaeco vos of vestri malum_," he chanted. Sam looked up, surprised. With his arms full of his brother, he was essentially helpless.

"_Dea , succurro mihi accerso pacis ut is animus._"

Sam shifted under the uncomfortable sensation that was beginning to run through him. Like a hyper sensitive pins and needles. "Wait!" he called out, but was ignored. He carefully settled his brother, and began to stand, but Knight's next words drove him back down to his knees with a cry.

"_Suus cruor est immunda. Dea, purgo is, defaeco is, ex nostrum tersus animus_."

His body was on fire. Sam groaned under the pain as every nerve in his body was activated, a hundred different sensations all rolling into one general sense of pain. The blood pumping through his veins seemed over heated, and his hands turned into fists, as if he could fight what was happening to his insides from the outside.

"Don't do this," he begged, his voice hoarse from the instant dryness that had appeared.

"_Per is thymum, ego dico super vestri ops mihi servo bonus animus hic_," Knight called out as he dropped the herb. It flared just as two things happened at once. Sam screamed, and Bobby burst through the door, his gun unerringly finding it's targets and swinging back and forth between the two people.

Waves of blackness rolled over Sam, and he found himself losing his fight to stay conscious. He screamed again as his blood boiled up and down his arms.

Bobby took in the scene in front of him. The older man seemed to be performing some kind of ritual, while the woman was advancing on him with a knife. Dean was lying on the floor, his eyes open, but blank, as he'd seen at the house. Sam was curled over his knees, forehead nearly touching the ground as he panted through whatever had forced that god awful scream from his throat. But there was no altar in sight, which meant that it was somewhere else in the house. The old man didn't seem to be overly concerned with his presence and continued to pray.

Lily, the waitress he remembered from the Pub, was advancing toward him with a large knife. She was moving slowly, though, so he turned his attention to the old man. "You've got five seconds to stop what your doing," he growled, aiming the gun at him. The old man just shook his head, making a small slice in his finger.

"_Dea , recipero is vitualamen of meus putus cruor , ut is may purgo malum ex is somes_."

Sam screamed again. Lily launched herself at Bobby, forcing him to drop his aim. He didn't have time for this, and tried to knock her out with a solid punch, but the bitch was fast for her size, and her own attack left claw marks on the back of his neck. Knight had his eyes closed as he made his blood offering to whichever Goddess he was praying to.

Nobody noticed that Dean was no longer lying on the floor, his brother's scream having penetrated that deep part of him that bid him to protect, at all costs. Above the noise of the fray, one sound rang out, clear as a bell. A snap that could only ever be associated with one thing.

Knight's body fell to the ground, and silence followed, broken only by the sound of Sam's wild pants. Bobby cursed for allowing himself to be distracted, but even as he returned to his assailant, she was already moving toward the old man. She was a vicious fighter, and he wasn't going to allow her a chance at a still defenseless Dean. As she turned, Bobby swung the butt of his gun, connecting with her temple. She dropped.

Dean had slid down the back wall, and was now sitting quietly, still with no real awareness as to what was going on, or even what he had done. He wouldn't be going anywhere, so Bobby turned his attention to Sam.

"Sam!"

"'M okay," Sam mumbled into the floor, shaking slightly from the after effects of the spell. "Check on Dean."

"He's good for the moment. Can you sit up?" Without waiting for an answer, he helped the youngest Winchester sit up, noting the blood shot eyes and the twisted grimace of lingering pain. Still, his breathing was becoming even again, his shaking subsiding. "I need to find the altar," he pointed out, not exactly asking for permission to leave, but coming close.

Sam nodded. "Go."

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Bobby whistled as he entered the attic of the house. The entire room had been converted into a powerhouse. Charms, herbs, artifacts, and bones hung from almost every inch of the ceiling. The walls were lined with books he was more than happy to add to his own collection. And there, in the center of the room, was the altar he had been looking for.

He considered carefully how to destroy it. Somehow, he didn't think just tipping it over would do the trick. This was old school stuff, and very powerful. Making his decision, he grabbed a cloth bag from one of the corners, and swept the altar's contents into it. Using his steel toe work boots, he made short work of the table itself, reducing it to pieces, just in case, and threw those in the bag as well. He would burn it when he got back to his place.

After throwing the bag in the trunk, he returned to the basement to find Sam sitting beside his brother, Lily still unconscious across the room. Her state wasn't stopping a death glare from Sam Bobby was intensely gratified had never been aimed at him.

"How is he?"

Sam looked up. "Knight did something to his back, marked him. He said it would quicken the process."

"What process?"

"I don't know. Every time I asked, all I got was some cryptic answer. Did you find the altar?"

Bobby nodded, frowning at the blood that was staining Sam's shirt, which he was just now noticing. "It's in the truck, I'll burn it when we get back to the yard. Are you hurt?"

Sam looked down to where Bobby was pointing, and shook his head. "It's Deans."

And that was all he needed to hear. Moving over to the waitress, he fished smelling salts from his pocket and brought her around. Lily's eyes widened in terror as she looked up at a very, very pissed off grizzled Hunter. "My father-"

"Is dead, and deserves to be," Bobby answered curtly.

Lily shook her head in denial. "You're Hunters, you can't kill humans."

"Lady, you messed with the wrong Hunters. What did your father do to Dean?" Bobby demanded. He wasn't ready to face what Dean had done just yet. There would be time for that later.

Lily glared at him. Her father was dead, the only real protection this town had ever had. She wasn't smart enough to take up the Art for him, and she suspected these Hunters had already ransacked his altar room. There was nothing left for her. She decided then and there that she would take from them what they had taken from her. She smiled cruelly.

"Nothing he hadn't already done to himself. He's trapped in a world of his own making."

"You wanna be a bit more specific?" Bobby growled, knowing even as he asked that it was useless.

Lily continued to smile. "You have no idea the horrors he's going to suffer, alone, and in the dark. There's nothing you or anyone else can do about it."

Bobby glanced over at Sam. The young man was listening with half an ear, but most of his attention was on his brother. He had faith that the older, more experienced Hunter would take care of things, somehow find a way to fix all this. Or maybe he was just in a little bit of shock. Dean's actions had to have affected him, as well.

Closing his eyes, Bobby felt himself drowning with the realization that they had royally screwed this one up, and Dean would pay the price.


	10. I'm The Only Backup He's Got

AN: Wow, still with me, huh? I appreciate your patience! Hope you enjoy! This chapter is a lead in, tying up loose ends from the previous hunt, and then we can focus one hundred percent on Dean!

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Chapter 10

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Rita eyed the worse for wear young man in front of her. "I just got a call from the police."

Sam returned her inquiring gaze steadily. He was too tired, too worn out, to play games with her tonight. "Yeah?"

"Lily is in custody, though it looks like she's being sent to a mental institution in the city. The police are saying she killed her father, and was responsible for the other murders," Rita continued nonchalant as she turned back to grab the paperwork for checking out. "Funny, thing, that. She's taken credit for all of them, and then some. She keeps ranting that she managed to kill the great Dean Winchester."

Sam's throat closed up, but he kept his expression steady. "That's a shame."

"Isn't it, Mr. Ulrich. Well, sorry to see you go, but I'm glad that article of yours worked out. You do these people justice, you hear? And you take care of that brother of yours."

"I will. And, thank you, Rita. For everything."

Rita nodded, and watched him walk out the door. Winchester. Somehow she doubted that would be the last she heard of that name, and that gave her hope that the devastation in Sam's eyes hadn't been real, that whatever had happened could be made better.

They were good boys, at heart, and in the end, that's all she really cared about.

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"Sam, you need to get some rest," Bobby admonished as he found the youngest Winchester still sitting where he had left him hours ago, pouring over the books they had brought in from Faith.

"It's gotta be here, Bobby. If they knew enough to do this to him, they had to get the information from somewhere," Sam insisted. Then he blinked in awareness. "Why aren't you with Dean?"

Bobby looked away for a moment. It had been a week and a half since they'd returned from Faith, and Dean's condition had remained unchanged. Whatever had spurred him to defend his brother hadn't made another reappearance, not even to take care of survival needs. He couldn't eat, and would choke on any water they tried to pour down his throat. He just lay there, his blank eyes open and dry from the lack of blinking. Until tonight.

"Bobby?"

"His fever is up," Bobby reported. "His eyes are closed, so I think he finally passed out."

"That's good, then. I mean, he usually passes out when he's out of the trance," Sam replied, hope shinning in those hazel eyes.

Bobby felt like a heel for crushing it. "I don't think so, Sam. I think his body just can't hang on anymore. What we're doing, it's not working. There's a reason coma patients stay in the hospital."

"There's no point in taking him to the hospital. There's nothing they can do for him, and he'll just sign himself out when he wakes up," Sam insisted stubbornly, a mantra he had taken up since this discussion had first come around last week.

"They can keep him alive until we figure this out!" Bobby growled, hating to once again come up against the trademark stubbornness of the Winchesters. "We're not getting enough fluids into him, and what little we are, the fever is eating up. We're lucky he's still alive. If we don't do something soon, Sam, then he won't have a chance to wake up!"

Sam closed his eyes. He was too tired to keep the truth from Bobby, or himself, any longer. "I know."

"You-?" Bobby stuttered, shocked by the admission.

"What if we can't figure this out, Bobby? How long is he going to stay in that hospital?"

"Sam-"

"No, Bobby. It's like you said, rotting away in a hospital bed, that's not who Dean is. I know my brother, and he would rather rot in the fires of hell than be stuck like that."

The old Hunter could see how much that admission had cost the young man. Sam wouldn't give up, but he wouldn't go against his brother's wishes, either. And like it or not, he was right. His own words flew back at him. _We may not like it, and it may be plain scary to know, but it is what it is, and we just have to accept that._

Sam tiredly closed the book he had been reading, finally admitting there was nothing here. Being a professor, Knight could have potentially gotten the knowledge from anywhere. He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, scrunching his nose against the headache that had been lingering for days.

He wasn't stupid. He knew they were running out of time. They'd tried everything that had looked like even a potential cure, even an exorcism which had had disastrous results. It had been like trying to exorcise a part of his brother, and it had obviously been painful. Lily's taunts came back to haunt him time and time again. He didn't know how aware his brother was, but he wasn't taking any more chances. If only he could get inside Dean's head. The answer had to be _there_.

He blinked. "Oh my god! Why didn't I think of this before?"

Bobby frowned. "You wanna share with the class?"

Sam licked his lips. "Do you know any psychics? And I mean powerful enough to get me inside Dean's head."

"No way, Sam! We have no idea what's going on in there, or how this might affect you!"

"I don't care!"

"Well Dean does!" Bobby threw back, aiming for the low blow.

Instead of making him angry, though, Sam turned those puppy eyes, the irresistible pout Dean always relied on in a hustle, on him. And damnit if the only person ever immune to it was already dead. "Sam, this is dangerous. You don't know what you're walking in to."

"I know, Bobby, but I have to try. Like you said, we're running out of time. Dean's the only one with the answers here."

"If Dean knew what was going on, he would have told you."

"Would he?" Sam challenged. "This is somehow connected to him. That exorcism proved that. Something is going on, and by now, Dean either knows or has a pretty good idea of what. Lily, she said he was trapped in a world of his own making. Supernatural evidence aside, even his body is responding as though it's a virus. The symptoms are all there. Whatever this is, it's _inside_ him, and he's losing."

Bobby studied the man in front of him, afraid that he was going to now lose both of them. He couldn't argue with Sam, but he wanted to. He had one last card to play before he was willing to fold, however. "Dean would forbid this, you know."

"Well Dean's not around to call the shots, is he? Besides, if the roles were reversed, you know he'd do it for me."

And really, there was no argument for that.

"I'll make some calls."

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Sam took up the hand that had once been powerful and had now been reduced to hot skin and bone. It was one of the small comforts left from his childhood. That physical contact that Dean would rarely accept, but was always willing to give. Even with Dean horribly injured, he didn't ever remember being so afraid of breaking something. The man lying motionless on the bed was a pale, emaciated, fragile version of his brother that Sam had a hard time reconciling with the vibrant, muscular, strong version that had been by his side in battle a hundred times.

"I don't know how much you can hear, Dean, but we've got an idea. Bobby got a hold of a pretty powerful psychic. She'll be here in a day or so. You just have to hang on until then. I know you won't like it, but I don't think we have a choice anymore. I won't put you in a hospital, but I won't stand by and do nothing, either. I hope you can understand that, and forgive me."

Sam licked his lips nervously. "You can't fight us, Dean. You need to let this happen. Can you do that? For me?" He let out a small growl of frustration. "I know you felt like you were on your own for a long time, but you're not anymore. You have to let me help you. You don't have to do this alone, and I wish you understood that."

"Sam?" Bobby called from the doorway. "How is he?"

"His fever is higher. Another degree and we'll be looking for febrile seizures," Sam replied, placing a wet cloth on his brother's forehead, making sure the ends draped over the temples.

"I'll sit with him a bit. Why don't you go get some rest?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm where I need to be."

"Sam, you may have talked me into going along with this fool scheme of yours, but no way in hell are you doing it as run down as you are right now," Bobby growled.

Glancing at the man who had been more a father to him than his own had, Sam could see there was no argument here. Bobby's expression was clear. Either he rested up for this adventure, or he didn't go. He tried to go for a grin. "I thought Dean was your favorite."

"He is, and he'd kick my ass for not taking care of you. Now go get some sleep."

Sam chuckled and went over to his own bed with his hands up in surrender, turning back just in time to see Bobby tenderly wipe down fever flushed cheeks. He stripped without embarrassment to his boxers and fell into the wonderfully soft mattress, thinking.

When he was younger, it had made him jealous that 'Uncle' Bobby seemed to pick Dean as his favorite. He remembered the day that jealousy stopped like it was yesterday. He had fallen from a tree and scraped his knee. He hadn't gone to their father, hadn't gone to Bobby, no, Sam had headed straight for his big brother, tears of a pain that was more pride than physical streaming down his face. Dean had patiently cleaned the scrape, dressed it, helped him wash his face, and given him a stern lecture on being careful when climbing trees.

They'd had a Hunt that night. John had taken his oldest with him, thinking it a simple salt and burn. Hardly Dean's first, so there was no harm, despite how Bobby had begged him to leave the boy behind with him and Sam.

Sam had been hiding at the top of the stairs when his family had returned, bloodied and bruised. He was worried, but knew enough by now not to let them know he was there.

"Bobby, I need the first aid kit," Dean called out, sounding so much older than his mere nine years.

Bobby fetched, as ordered, watching as John criticized every move the boy made, but sat still while Dean cared for him. He knew enough not to interfere, that John would insist the boy needed to learn. It was a song and dance they'd performed many times, but tonight Dean looked far too exhausted to feel the need to play referee, so he let it slide.

John briefed Bobby on the hunt, while Sam sat listening, grinning when he heard that Dean had made a slide into the grave and been the one to light the match. He didn't understand all of it, but he understood enough to know his brother had been the hero tonight.

He heard their father order Dean to bed, and frowned a little. He was young, he knew that. Knew there was stuff his father and brother kept from him, but he had seen. Dean had been hurt too. Why wasn't their father looking him over?

He scrambled back into the bedroom they shared when they visited Bobby's and just made it into bed as Dean came through. He walked directly to the semi ensuite attached to the room, and carefully began checking his own injuries.

Sam remembered thinking, even then, that it wasn't right. That Dean took care of him, took care of Dad. Why wasn't there someone to take care of Dean? Had that been Mommy's job? Heavy boots on the stairs had made him duck under his covers, peeking out just enough to see Bobby enter the bathroom.

"You okay kid?" Bobby asked, crouching down.

"I'm fine," was Dean's automatic reply.

"You look a little banged up. How about I take a look?" Bobby offered gently, careful not to tread on the boy's pride.

"Dad says I'm fine."

"Your Dad says a lot of things."

Sam had winced, knowing even then that it was taboo to bad talk their father in front of him. He remembered thinking that sometimes Uncle Bobby wasn't too smart. But most importantly, he remembered feeling grateful that there had been someone there to finally take care of Dean.

Sam rolled over, trying to get comfortable as he listened to Bobby tell his comatose brother stories of past hunts. He'd never been jealous after that day. He'd been glad there was someone to look after his brother, even if they didn't often spend time at Bobby's. Dean had resisted it, of course, being who he was, outright refusing it when he got older, but Sam had never let go of that gratitude to Bobby for having never stopped trying.

Bobby remained the only other person in the world that Sam trusted to look after his brother besides him. He loved Pastor Jim and Caleb, but they hadn't fought for Dean, not like Bobby had. In his young eyes, standing up to John Winchester was just about the bravest thing you could do, and Bobby had willingly gone to bat with him time again. Years later, the hero worship of a child had faded to be replaced by a deep respect of one man to another, both bound to a common cause.

The memory reminding him that Dean was safe, was in good hands, allowed him to close his eyes and surrender to the exhaustion that had been his shadow for almost two weeks.

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Bobby answered the door on the second knock, having just come downstairs for a drink as Sam had taken over the watch. A woman about his age was standing there in track pants and a t-shirt, her hand moving to try and control the wisps of short hair that the breeze was teasing. He smiled and ushered her inside.

"It's good to see you again, Sarah."

The woman took his offered hand, holding it. "You too. I wish it were under better circumstances." Sarah studied her old friend. "You know this plan of his, it's about as dangerous as it comes."

Bobby nodded, guiding her upstairs. "I know. But we're getting desperate."

Stopping outside the spare bedroom, Sarah grabbed his hand, sensing his answer, but needing to be sure. "Is it worth risking both to save one?"

Bobby regarded her soberly. "If I lose one, I've lost them both anyway."

Sarah nodded. The house was thick with desperation and fear, something she had never felt coming here before. Her old friend was tired, soul weary, and worried sick. The young man she could already sense in the other room a matching soul.

When they entered the room, Sam sat up, looking the woman over. She was plump, but tall enough to carry the weight well. She had a pretty face that was adorned with freckles, and fire red hair that he somehow suspected could match her temper. Her eyes, though, caught him. There existed a duality there in that she seemed far away, and yet present, as though she stood with one foot on either side of two borders.

"You must be Sarah. Thank you for coming," Sam offered as a greeting. He could see it on her stern expression. She wanted to talk him out of this, and he strengthened his resolve. This was their last chance. Dean was barely hanging on. If this failed, there was nothing left to try. She seemed to catch on, and gently patted his hand.

"Sam, I can't promise you this will work," she replied, sensing she couldn't dissuade him from this course of action. "He might still die."

"I know. But we have to try. Wherever he is, he needs backup, and I'm it."

Sarah moved to the bed, frowning at the boy lying there. "He's not completely comatose. His mind is very active, and he's fighting against something. He's terrified." She met the young man's eye. "There's a part of him that knows we're here, knows what you plan to do. Sam, if he blocks us, he could kill us all."

"He won't. If he knows that much, then he won't take that risk with me," Sam replied confidently.

"And if he can't tell the difference between you and the enemy?" Sarah asked bluntly, voicing the small concern that had been lingering in the back of Sam's mind.

"He's killed for me," Sam answered, swallowing the lump in his throat. He didn't think he'd _ever_ be ready to deal with what Dean had done. "He's died for me. I have to believe he can't hurt me."

"You need to understand the risks of what you're asking me to do. If he dies while you're in with him, you'll die too. Once you're in, you won't be able to come out again, not until he lets you go. I can only open the door," Sarah warned. "Sam, are you sure you're ready for this? You don't know what's behind these doors. It's too deep and I can't see it. For something like this, I can guarantee it won't be pretty."

Sam took a deep breath, preparing himself, but his answer was quick and immediate. "He's my brother."

Nothing else mattered.


	11. At The End Of His Rope

AN:Okay, a bit of a long chapter... We're on the final run here, so the next few chapters will probably be quite long. There just never seems to be a great place to break these things up, lol.

As always, reading experience is greatly enhanced with some kind of sad, instrumental music playing in the background... Pale by Within Temptation and Close Your Eyes (Buffy) are two good ones to have playing in the background. Create a play list on youtube with these two songs, keep it low, not overpowering, a continuous loop, and soft. Trust me ;)

I've broken my personal record for length (unintentional, but oh well), and am shooting to break 100 reviews. Once I break that record, I will then mass post the final chapters in one sitting.

The concept for this story originally came while I was doing some light research on Socrates, Egyptian mythology, and Rituals of the Catholic Church for something else.

So. Thank you to all, once again, who read and reviewed, or just read. I hope these final chapters don't disappoint. I tried to stay as true to ever evolving characters as I could, but come on, Dude's on the brink of insanity... and no one does angst like Dean, even if it is rare to see. So, in my interpretation, I stayed very close to how I think the boys would react given the circumstances.

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Chapter 11

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Sarah shooed the two men out of the room. Once they were gone, she gently closed the door and took up a seat next to the young man. She wanted a good sense of him before she risked his brothers life, despite Sam's confidence. Closing her eyes, she opened her mind.

"Oh, you don't like me, do you?" she chuckled. "Is it because of what I am, or because of what I'm helping Sam do?" Her smile fell as she felt him weakly try to push her out. "You can't do it, Dean. You can't fight us both."

She frowned as the mind she was gently probing changed tactics, and instead blanketed itself, cutting off her vision. Opening her eyes, she studied the young man. A waste of a thing now, but she could tell there had once been strength and power in that body. In that spirit, too. Both had been weakened almost beyond repair, but that spark of fight was still there, that need to protect his brother. It was the strongest thing she could pick up now, and she had a feeling there was a part of him that was doing it deliberately, somehow trying to explain why he couldn't let Sam in.

"Dean, you can't fight us both," she repeated. "Sam needs this. You have to let him in. I'm only opening the door, then I'll be leaving. There's nothing I can do after that. If you want to protect him, then you have to let him try." She hesitated. "I don't know what you're fighting, but it's a dark, old evil. I can feel that much, and it's tied to you, destroying you. You can't do this alone, Dean. You've tried and failed. It's time to bring in backup."

Having said her piece, she called the two men back in. Sam anxiously checked on his brother, as though he could somehow sense the same unease she could. Giving the hand one final squeeze, he turned to his own bed.

Sarah leaned over him, her lips near touching her ear as she whispered. "Are you truly ready for what you may see in there? Dean is a man with many secrets, many doors. All are locked."

"I know I'm not ready to lose him," Sam growled back. "If anyone holds the key, it's me."

"The deal, Sam- someday-" she couldn't seem to finish her thought, as if picking up on his own anguish at the mention of it.

Sam shrugged. "Someday isn't today."

"There's no turning back, Sam. Last chance," she offered, moving to sit in the chair between the two beds Bobby had prepared for her.

"It's our _only_ chance," Sam countered evenly, glancing at the still form of his brother. Of that, he was sure.

Sarah nodded. "Very well. Let's begin."

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Sam opened his eyes to a world of chaotic color. He should recognize it, but it was as if everything was distorted. Patting himself down, he was surprised to feel him whole, hard and healthy. He didn't know quite what he'd expected, but it certainly hadn't been to be corporeal. Did that mean Dean was as well? Could they be hurt here?

Sliding past that thought, he moved into the distortion, determined to find his brother. He was surprised when he rebounded off of it. Huh. Hadn't been expecting that. Was it Dean keeping him out, or whatever held him trapped here?

"Dean, if it's you, man, you gotta let me in." He tried the barrier several more times, and wasn't surprised to find it weakening under each onslaught. He wouldn't give up, and his brother didn't have the strength to maintain it. "Sorry, bro. It's gonna take more juice than that."

His last attack broke through, and the distortion cleared, revealing a front yard with a tree he barely recognized. It was their old house, in Lawrence. He frowned. Why would Dean have brought him here? What had happened here those twenty some years ago had traumatized his brother so much that when they'd had to return, it had taken every bit of control Dean had to force himself into this house. Had he been forced here again, or taken refuge in the only safe haven his brother had ever known?

Sam found him sitting on the floor in their old kitchen, his knees drawn up to his chest and his arms tightly wrapped around them, his head bowed over his knees. Sam moved slowly toward his brother, uncertain of what was happening, but recognizing all the signs that his brother was at the end of his rope and about to snap.

"Dean?" he called gently as he knelt in front of him, careful not to spook him. "Can you hear me?"

Dean looked up, and Sam near broke himself. Dean's eyes were red and puffed. He'd obviously been crying for some time. "Sam?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Are you okay?"

Dean shook his head as more tears broke free. "I can't do this anymore, Sammy. I tried, but I can't."

Sam frowned in confusion. "Can't what, Dean? What's happening here?"

Dean closed his eyes, turning his head away from Sam, not wanting him to see the coward he had become. "I'm sorry. I can't."

"Dean! You have to focus! Something is keeping you here. Do you know what it is?" Sam insisted.

"You're not here. Please, just go away."

Sam reached out and grabbed his brother's arm tight enough to hurt, finally drawing those haunted green eyes back to his own. "I'm here, Dean. Really here. Now you need to help me figure what's happening so we can end this!"

Dean blinked, and frowned. But as he opened his mouth to reply, his eyes turned toward the other room, a deep seated terror Sam had never seen before entering his expression. "No, not again. Please, not again," Dean begged.

"What is it? What's happening?" Sam demanded, tightening his hold on Dean's arm. It seemed to be the only thing that was keeping him at least semi grounded. But nothing seemed to be truly reaching his broken brother. "You have to tell me!"

"I can't do this again," Dean sighed, his exhaustion clear in his voice.

"Yes you can!" Sam insisted harshly. He was beginning to suspect that what he wanted to know was at the end of whatever was about to happen. Instinctively, he knew they had to see this through one last time. On that same level, there was a part of him that suspected Dean wouldn't survive it. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind. This time would be different. He was here now, he would help. Dean didn't have to go through it alone. "I'm here, Dean. One last run through and then we can kill this son of a bitch!"

"We can't kill it, Sammy. I've tried, but I can't. I'm never strong enough to make it to the end," Dean whispered. "I'm sorry."

Sam ground his teeth at his normally invincible brother's defeat. "Then we die trying, Dean. Remember? We go out swinging."

Dean shook his head furiously. "I can't watch you die, Sam. Please, not again."

"Then _help_ me! Because I'm _not_ leaving here without you!" Sam growled.

Dean glanced over at the other room again, and sighed. He didn't have a choice. If he wanted Sam out of here, they'd have follow the trail. He was almost positive his mind couldn't handle another loop, but he knew he had to try. He felt broken a thousand times over, and clear thought was getting harder to hang on to, but this was his Sammy, once again asking for the impossible, and never once stopping to consider that Dean might not be able to deliver.

Sam stood, reaching out a hand to help his brother up. "Let's finish this." There was no question, no chance to doubt him. It was an order.

Dean nodded and reached out. His hand shook. He didn't want to do this. He had barely survived it the first time around. This continuous loop was eating away at what little was left of his fighting spirit. But then, that was the point, wasn't it? Weaken him to the point where he couldn't fight back? Was that what this was about?

Sam watched his brother carefully as he pulled him up. The broken man who had sat huddled on the floor was slowly leeching away as Dean's will to fight sparked once again. It was a feeble flicker, but he would take whatever he could get. "What's going on here, Dean?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know. Nothing makes sense. I keep being dragged through my memories, always the same ones, over and over, just like it was real. The worst moments of my life in full techno color. I've tried to stop it, but when I don't move, the memories come to me. I can't get out." Dean forced a chuckle, and Sam ignored the hint of hysteria that flavored it. "Gotta tell you, Sammy, I've got a hell of a headache."

"Then what happens?" Sam pushed as he followed his brother through the house he remembered seeing in Lawrence, happy to hear his brother trying for that inappropriately timed levity.

Dean hesitated. "I don't know. I've never made it to the end."

"You know this isn't real?" Sam asked. "You're actually in a coma."

Dean frowned. "Real or not, it's got me trapped. And now you too, dumb ass. What the hell were you thinking? How are you even here?"

"A psychic has us connected to each other. I couldn't wake you, Dean. It's been almost two weeks. You're dying and no one knows why. I had to try _something._ Do you remember Lily? She told us you were trapped in a world of your own making. Knight just kept saying over and over that it was too late, that no one could stop what _you_ had begun. I couldn't find anything in the books. I couldn't even match the symbols Knight carved on your back. I was hoping you might have a better idea of what's going on."

Dean stopped and sighed. "If what you're saying is true, I think I do." The pieces were ever so slowly falling into place, Lily's hints and the condition of his physical body filling in some blanks.

Sam glared at him. "If?"

"Look, I'm not above self awareness. It's entirely possible you're something I've dreamed up to help me cope with what's happening. And before you do it again, bruising my arm doesn't prove anything beyond that I'm desperate enough for your help that I've totally convinced myself you're here," Dean pointed out.

Sam sighed, unable to deny his brother's surprisingly insightful logic. "Okay, so what do you think it is?"

"If I'm right, we're dealing with a demi god. A very old one. It's got a hundred names, but the Catholic Church once called it 'Nex Secundum Moestitia'. Literally translated it means Death After Sorrow. Which would explain a lot. In ancient times the Templar Knights would actually undergo an exorcism performed by the Pope himself to banish Moestitia from their shadows so as to secure victory. The first concrete writing goes back even farther to ancient Egypt where it was actually worshiped as an important religious icon in rituals to fortify the pharaoh," Dean explained as he moved toward the stairs. He didn't need to move. They would come to him if he stayed, but the action of going toward it focused his mind on hunting this thing, on being the one in charge. It was a thin thread, but he was desperately clinging to it.

Sam's eyebrows rose in surprise, and he made a mental note that though Dean hated research, he obviously retained a hell of a lot more than he let on. Sometimes it was easy to forget how smart Dean really was. "So, how do we kill it?" And how come the exorcism didn't work on you? But he refrained from asking. His brother was barely holding on. The information was a way to latch onto something, make it a normal hunt, and somehow keep what little was left of his sanity. But one look at Dean let Sam know exactly how thin the ice they were skating on was.

Dean shook his head, not having seen Sam's expression. "We can't. To feed it was a great honor that was highly treasured, so much so that the Egyptians actually hand picked children to be raised as the sacrifice. These children were raised hellishly, led the worst kind of lives one could imagine so it would have plenty to feed on. Those who survived the upbringing would fall asleep, and eventually die. Modern scientists have decided it was due to dehydration and starvation, but the ancient Egyptians believed it came for them during their slumber. Socrates once speculated that if one could discover it's true name, then it's physical manifestation would be banished forever."

Sam shot him a look. "How do you _know_ all this?"

Dean smirked, but didn't answer, instead continued the flow of his knowledge. "Problem was, times were changing, and it changed names a hundred times. Monks spent centuries trying to discover a way to banish it, but failed."

"Okay, well that tells us how it started, but not how to end it," Sam pointed out. "Were you able to find any of the rituals used? The exact exorcism?"

"Nope." Nor was he going to mention that he'd never looked. When he first started Hunting, John would demand that Dean hand in weekly research papers. Thankfully, by the time Sammy was old enough, he'd gotten too busy for the habit. But still, there were pieces missing. There was something he should know, something he should be _getting_ by now, but it escaped him at the moment. God he was tired. Why couldn't Sam let him rest? Let him just _stop_? Swallowing it down, he forced himself forward. For Sam, he would keep going, he would try.

They moved silently through the house, and Sam noticed that Dean's steps slowed as they reached what he knew had been his nursery. "This is that night, isn't it?" he asked gently.

Dean drew in a deep breath and nodded, but remained silent.

Sam was unprepared for the sight that greeted him. Dean had rarely spoken of the night his mother died. What little Sam knew, he knew from his father's rants of revenge as they were growing up. With the demon feeding on sorrow, he was momentarily surprised when what he saw was a happy family. Little Dean was leaning over the crib, kissing baby Sam good night.

_John appeared in the doorway, and opened his arms for his oldest son. "Hey, Dean."_

"_Daddy!" Dean flew into his fathers arms, and was lifted up. John gazed lovingly at his prize._

"_Hey Buddy. So what do you think? You think Sammy's ready to toss around a football?"_

_Dean giggled. "No, Daddy."_

"_No," John agreed with a smile._

Sam turned to his brother, surprised to see the raw grief on his face. He had expected to walk directly into the horrible moment when their mother died. He saw a happy family in front of him. There was no sorrow here.

"Dean, I don't understand," Sam whispered.

Dean sniffled, and chuckled. "No, you wouldn't. You don't remember this."

And then Sam thought he _did _understand. "You lost this. Our family." He reached out and touched his brothers shoulder in sympathy, and was suddenly overwhelmed with feelings of loss, grief and regret. It was a constant cascade of emotions he knew weren't his own. He was confused until he realized he was feeling his brother as they watched the happy scene play out. Somehow, the psychic had plugged him right into Dean, not just his mind, but his emotions as well. Had it been done intentionally, or was it just a byproduct?

He could feel it all. The simple joy of having their father tuck him in, immediately followed by a sharp pang of remorse for that pleasure. The emotions were two fold as he realized he was feeling little Dean's emotions as well. When John turned off the light to Dean's room, Sam felt his own heart break as, with his new insight, he finally understood what it was about this that caused Dean so much pain.

"My god, Dean," Sam gasped. "Your grief isn't even about what _you_ lost tonight, it's about what _I _never knew." And that was just so typical of Dean.

Dean shifted uncomfortably, aware of the source of Sam's sudden understanding, but lacking the ability to shut it down. His carefully built walls had crumbled a long time ago, and he didn't have the strength to rebuild them. "You never got to call him 'Daddy'," he whispered. "This is it. _This_ is what you've always wanted, but couldn't remember. What your quest for 'normality' has always been about, trying to get _this_ back."

Sam wiped his own eyes, removing his hand from Dean's shoulder, cutting off the shared emotions. It was too much, all those emotions Dean had spent his life bottling up suddenly loosed and out of control. He had felt as Dean struggled with it, and locked it away in a box in the back of his mind as they watched. It felt like a surging tide, there and then gone, buried so deeply it would never see the light of day again.

"_Daddy!" called a terrified four year old Dean in the hallway. _

"_Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back. Now, Dean, go!" John ordered as he placed the bundled baby in his brothers little arms._

They followed Little Dean outside, and watched as he snuggled the baby to him. Unable to resist, Sam lightly touched his brother, and closed his eyes against the flood of emotions. It was as if Dean was reliving each emotion he had felt at the time, as well as his own emotions in reaction to seeing the memory again, knowing what he did now. One had the sense of an echo to it, while the latter was strong enough that Sam could sense Dean trying, and failing, to keep a good deal of it from him.

Sam felt the terror of that little boy, felt the surge of protectiveness, the ownership of that baby. Layered on top of that was a deep sense of failure, pain and confusion. This was it, this was the moment Dean ceased to exist, and simply became Sammy's big brother and protector.

It was all encompassing, this need to protect the helpless life in his arms. Sam watched and felt as Dean grew into a man that night, forcing back his terror, locking it away, and focused on Baby Sam.

"_It's okay, Sammy," Little Dean whispered as he stared at the burning house, knowing even in his innocent mind that his life would never be the same. "I'll protect you. Always."_

Sam watched as they sped through memories of the days following, suddenly realizing that those four words had been the last Dean had spoken. John went to his friends for help, barely managed to make it through the funeral. The man was a mess, emotionally broken. Watching, Sam also realized that John rarely held him, and usually only for moments at a time, then handed the baby back to his oldest. Dean seemed to develop a hyper awareness of Sam, every movement watched, every expression carefully noted and processed. He hadn't realized that Dean's ability to read his mind, which had so annoyed him over the years, had been carefully honed. If Dean could anticipate what his younger brother needed, then there was less and less need to disturb their grieving father.

The pattern continued as the boys grew up, and John learned more and more about the world that had taken away his wife. Sam was surprised to discover that a year had passed, and still Dean hadn't said a word. His fierce ownership of Sammy was obviously encouraged by John, who rarely took the time to speak to either of his sons, except to issue an order to Dean.

Even when John left them at a friends house, his last words to the silent boy were never 'I Love you', but 'Take care of your brother'. Sam watched as it became the mantra of communication between them. And poor little Dean took it so seriously, caring for Sam, comforting his father whenever he could, trying be everything to everyone, to fill the shoes of the woman that was so obviously missing from their lives. Caring for his family in whatever way was asked or needed. Learning to anticipate them both so he could deliver without having to be asked.

He followed his brothers feelings, and never felt a morsel of regret, or even resentment. This was his role now. Sam felt each time that Dean shoved down a personal desire, or need, in order to look after what little he had left of his family, taking a piece of Dean's own identity with it. Moments taken from years of pain, abandonment and Little Dean clinging desperately to the only thing he had left.

Dean's combat training had started when he turned five. His weapons training when he was six. By the time Sammy could run, Dean was a near perfect marksman, could dismantle and reassemble the guns blindfolded. He felt Dean's simple pleasure as he ran laps with his father, leaving Sammy to be cared for by Bobby, or Pastor Jim, or Caleb. There were no words spoken, merely time spent together. He felt Little Dean's pride when he kept up with his father, the flare of silent disappointment when John merely increased the length of their runs, his determination to do better.

Sam felt the tears on his cheek as he watched this rare insight into a life he had no memory of, and into feelings his brother would never have willingly shared with him. He watched as Dean physically removed Sammy from the room anytime John started talking about the supernatural in order to protect as much of Sam's innocence as he could, trying to give his little brother the childhood he'd long given up.

His older brother had doted on him, giving anything and everything he might need, becoming in one little person the two loving parents he should have had. Sammy's first word thrilled him, his first steps earning him a whoop of joy from his older brother. When Sammy fell and scraped his knee, it was Dean that cleaned and bandaged it, kissed it better when a toddler too young to know any better pouted that it still hurt, even if it didn't really.

Dean finally started talking when the school threatened to remove them from John's care, proving that while he hadn't been very vocal, he was extremely perceptive. The school had been shocked to discover he could read before he entered the first grade, could work his way through well over half the multiplication table, and had a logic process far more advanced than his age. During his silent years, Dean had absorbed an incredible amount of information, processed it, and put it aside for future use, as he had been trained. He took to everything with a hard edged determination that concerned a few, but already adept at evading any special notice, Dean immediately allowed his grades to fall. With each new school he set out to prove that his advancement in his early years had been trauma induced, and wasn't going to be duplicated.

By the time Sammy entered school, few suspected the double life Dean led. He earned a reputation as a slacker in his academics, and a clever, sly, charmer who could weedle his way in or out of anything. In short, Dean was a survivor. He could, and would, adapt to any situation in which he was placed with an ease Sam had secretly envied. Only now did he understand the true reason for it, another shield Dean had conjured for their protection. Then there was the fact that Dean excelled in his home studies, having an ability to recognize patterns from the barest scraps of information. He might be failing English at school, but at home even their father had to admit to being impressed with how quickly Dean picked up the tools of their trade. His one and only act of rebellion against everything had been his outright refusal to learn Latin. He made a show of it, but never honestly put any true effort behind it.

Sam had always teased him about it, but he felt bad for that now. It wasn't that Dean wasn't capable of learning it, it was simply too painful for him. Their mother had used to read him bedtime stories in Latin. It was their special time, and he wouldn't sacrifice the memory of it, not even to appease his father.

In what seemed like an eternity, Sam watched their lives flash before them, feeling each pang the memories brought his brother. He felt Dean's hunger the first time their father hadn't returned on schedule and Dean had stopped eating to make sure Sammy could continue to do so. Stealing had never made him feel proud, but he wasn't too proud to do it. It was merely another skill at his disposal, to be used as needed. He watched the circumstances that had warped Dean into the natural warrior he was today. Felt that desperate need for approval from their father change into acceptance that it would never come, and eventually into a kind of contentment that he, at least, still had his father and brother. If nothing else in the world, he had that.

_Dean struggled to hold in his grunt of pain as he lowered himself on his bed. He hadn't mentioned it to his father, but he was pretty sure his ribs were badly banged up. If he was smart, he'd wrap them first, but found he couldn't be bothered. It just hurt too damn much to move. The shower had pretty much wiped him out._

_He felt the air in the room change, and instantly Sammy was crawling in on the floor, trying to hide from him. He couldn't stop the affectionate grin that took over his pain. Though still young, Sammy liked to believe he was all grown up, and too old for games like this._

_Still, he pretended to jump when Sam popped his head up over the side of the bed, growling at the boy for scaring him. Wide hazel eyes filled with a secret pride looked back at him._

"_Really, Dean? Did I scare you?" _

_Dean forced a scowl onto his face. "You know you did. You're a brat of a brother, you know that?"_

_Sammy laughed in delight, and Dean allowed his glare to soften. "Why are you still up?" he asked._

"_I can't sleep. The storm is keeping me awake." Sammy had never liked storms. He liked them even less knowing his brother and father had been out in it. Nodding, Dean patted the bed, bracing himself for the pain he knew this would cause. _

"_Come on up, and grab that book on the way. We can finish it."_

_Sammy scrunched up his face. "I'm too old for bedtime stories."_

"_But I'm not, and I want to know how it ends. How about _you_ read to _me _tonight?" It would keep his brother distracted from the weather outside, and give him a chance to relax a little. What did it matter that he had practically memorized the entire book?_

_Within moments, Sammy was snuggled tightly into his side, reading the last few chapters of Charlotte's Web. Dean helped him when he struggled, but was content to sit back and just listen. It took so little to make Sammy happy, and if the cost of it was a little pain, then it was a price he was more than willing to pay._

Sam hung his head. He hadn't known. That night was actually one of his most cherished memories of his brother. He had completely forgotten about the storm outside, and had enjoyed being snuggled so closely with his brother.

Dean had never given any hint how much he must have been hurting, and had patiently helped him with the bigger words. He felt guilty, but noted that Dean didn't seem to regret it anymore now than he had then. But the pain in this memory was so much more than just physical. Even then, Dean had held a secret wish in his heart that their mother could have been the one to read to Sammy. Not because he didn't enjoy doing it, but because Sammy deserved to know how good it felt to have Mommy read a bedtime story. Once again, Dean mourned the loss of what Sam would never know.

For his part, Sam had never noticed the lack, not then. Dean had been everything to him, for him. Mom, Dad, Brother and best friend all wrapped up in one neat package. At that age, while he _knew_ there was someone missing from their lives, he never _felt_ it. Dean provided him with everything he needed or wanted. He had never once considered what his brother must have given up in order to be able to support that unending need.

Sam watched as they took everything Dean had to offer, demanded more, and then took that too when it was given without reserve or hesitation. He felt Dean's pain as his brother finally had to allow Sammy into the world he and his father had existed in for years. He didn't remember his older brother ever contradicting anything their father had said or done, but watched as Dean fulfilled his promise to protect his little brother, even from their father if he had to, especially after little Sammy found his voice.

Sam never knew their father had turned to a bottle so many times in their young lives. Dean had taken the brunt of the drunken abuse, accepting that this, too, was simply one more thing needed from him. That deep devotion to the man who had failed him time and time again never wavering, even broken and bleeding on the floor from one of John's more violent drunks and frustrating hunts.

"_Dean, why are you bleeding?" Sammy asked as his brother entered the bedroom they shared in the tiny suite. Dean had sent him to his room as soon as their father staggered in the door an hour ago._

_Dean offered a smile and a shrug. "Tripped. How was school today? Did you do okay on the Math test?" He cleaned himself up, wiping the blood from the cut on his eyebrow, carefully applying a cold pack that he had grabbed on his way in to his cheek._

_Sammy's smile lit up the room as his question was forgotten in the excitement of his academic accomplishments. Dean settled himself carefully on the bed and listened with a small smile of his own, asking questions in all the right places, proving that though his eyes were closed, he was taking it all in._

"_I'm proud of you, Sammy. I knew you could do it."_

_Sammy beamed his own pride at his brother's praise. Then his face fell as he remembered what he had seen. "How's Dad? Did you patch him up?"_

"_Dad'll be fine, Sammy. We just need to let him rest tomorrow, then he should be back to normal," Dean answered. "Now come on, bed time."_

So many times Dean had sidestepped the questions, leading Sammy in another direction, always knowing just the right question to ask to send him off the trail and into his own world, somehow making him forget about what was right in front of him. Sam didn't bother to check his shock.

"I didn't know, Dean. I'm so sorry, I didn't know," Sam whispered in horror. It was more than the abuse. He had never really considered how much his brother had hidden from him, only now truly seeing the depth of it all. Dean had given of himself time and again to keep their small family together, and mostly at peace.

Dean smiled gently. "You weren't supposed to. It's okay, Sammy. You were too young to understand back then. Dad did the best he could."

Sam was almost shocked to discover, through their link, that Dean _truly_ believed that. He couldn't answer, could barely manage to look away from the determination of those green eyes to _make_ the thought a reality. No, John hadn't done the best he could. Neither of them had.

All the years of fighting with his father, with both of them drawing Dean into the middle, trying to force him to choose between them. Sam had never understood his brothers devotion to the man he had always blamed for his own lack of a normal life, hadn't seen how much it hurt Dean to play referee and peace keeper, always compromising himself in his effort to soothe the two sides.

With each passing year Sam saw more and more of his brother disappear. Dean's first solo hunt had been when he was so much younger than Sammy had ever been. Dean had been thrilled, happy to finally be able to put his extensive knowledge to good use. The need to hunt had been itching at him for years, until finally he had been granted his wish. It had nearly killed him, but Dean had been too busy riding the throes of a successful hunt to really notice. Somehow, that thrill of the chase had never really worn off. Sam didn't need a psychic connection to his brother to know Dean still felt that way, even now.

He flinched when he felt Dean's excitement upon receiving an acceptance letter from a college, when he saw Dean throw the letter in the trash as the two of them had started another major row. There was no emotion with the action. It simply was. Being accepted had been enough, had to _be_ enough. He was needed here. It was a quick and simple, though hardly painless, solution as far as Dean was concerned. One minute the letter was in his hand, and he was wondering how to broach the subject with his father, the next it, and any thoughts of another life outside hunting, were gone, shoved into that vault in his mind. A brief flicker in the steady flame that was his brother.

The years moved forward quickly enough. Dean's was an acceptance that hurt so much more than the events they were being forced to watch. Even so, each event had hurt his brother in some way, had been wrestled with and shoved into a box that was already too full.

Sam's first hunt, and Dean had fought hard to keep him back, to protect him. But John had insisted, and in the end, Dean had to obey. He sighed. He remembered that hunt. Dean had barely left his side, moving forward only enough to keep their father in sight, but never more than an arm's length away. If something was going to get to him, it would have to go through his older brother first.

Thinking on Dean's habit of always taking the bed closest to the door, of always being the first one through the door and the last one out, Sam realized that constant vigilance had never died. It had merely become second nature to them both. Perhaps, in training his oldest to always follow _his_ command, in allowing Dean to become Sam's primary caretaker, John had been silently training his youngest to rely on that security, setting up a strict chain of command.

It was a disturbing thought as harsh words floated back from the memories playing out before them.

"_Dean, you need to watch your brothers back! You could have gotten him killed tonight! What the hell is wrong with you?"_

"_Dean, how can you just automatically obey everything he says? Christ, would it kill you to take _my_ side for once?"_

"_Dean, you hesitated! Get your head on straight, boy, or you're no good to me!"_

"_Dean, don't you think Mom wanted something different for us than this? We're not soldiers."_

Back and forth it went, a constant tug a war between the oldest and youngest Winchester, leaving Dean damaged and broken but stoically stable in the process. They had each used him and then discarded him, with Dean somehow making sure the only one who lost in the end was himself.

He recognized what was coming next. It had been a particularly brutal hunt, John had needed bait, and Dean had nearly died in the process. Watching Dean fight for his life while his father cleaned up the loose ends had been the end of a very short rope for Sam. In the end, Dean had recovered, hadn't understood Sam's upset. It was just the way things were. It was a dangerous job, and it was their responsibility to do it. Sam and John were both okay, and the thing was dead. Beyond that, what else mattered? That attitude had driven Sam to John, and things had gone down hill from there.

"_I want a normal life, Dad!" Sam screamed, unaware of his brothers silent agony as Dean stood back, watching events unfold that he couldn't control. This one time, he couldn't interfere. This was Sam's fight, his decision._

"_This _is_ your life! It's our life! How can you just walk away from it?" _

"_No, Dad, it's not. It's _your_ life, _your_ revenge. All I know about Mom is that she wouldn't have wanted this for us. She couldn't have."_

"_And what about your brother? Can you walk away from _him_ this easily?" John roared._

"_What's my alternative? Watch you hang him out for bait again? Watch him die? Yeah, Dad. I can. Because neither of us deserves it. We're just pawns to you and I refuse to sit here and watch you offer him up on your revenge driven sacrificial altar!"Sam yelled in retaliation. _

"_I don't hear Dean complaining," their father growled dangerously, an age old clue that Sam was hitting a little too close to home._

"_You never do, do you?" Sam snarled in sarcasm._

_The two competitors never saw Dean's face blanch, never saw him squeeze his eyes closed against the onslaught of pain their words caused, neither stopping to consider he wasn't a weapon to be hurled at each other._

"_If you walk out that door, don't you ever come back!" John shouted, furious with his youngest. He moved to the other room, slamming the door separating the motel rooms from each other._

_Dean took a shuddering breath, and moved to pick up his brothers duffel bag, every instinct in his body screaming at him not to do this, to grab his brother and tie him down until he saw sense. But Sam wanted, and, as always for Dean, that was enough._

"_Dean, I-"_

"_It's okay, Sammy. I understand. This is something you need to do. Come on, I'll take you to the bus station. Don't worry about Dad, I'll talk to him in the morning," Dean managed with his signature grin, letting Sam know that everything really would be fine, even as his own heart broke. He had failed to keep them together, and it was his fault. He should have been able to do more. But he could do this, give this last thing to Sam. _

_Along the drive, Sam kept expecting his brother to lecture him, or plead with him to stay. But he didn't. Dean dropped him off at the bus, giving him a bundle of money that Sam knew very well was meant to be the replacement transmission in the Impala. He tried to refuse, but Dean pushed it on him._

"_Full ride or not, Sammy, there are other expenses. Just remember to have a little fun, too, alright?" In a way, it was as close to having his brothers blessing as Sam was ever going to get. Dean gave him a brief hug, then nudged him onto the bus, ignoring the fact that the minute the door closed, his soul died._

Sam's breath shuddered as he felt the agony that simple action had caused his brother. Dean would rather have chewed off his own arm than let his brother go, but Sam wanted this, and as he had all their lives, Dean would make sure he got it.

"All you had to do was ask, you know. One simple word, Dean, and I would have stayed," Sam admitted.

Dean nodded, his expression serious and sad. "I know. It's why I didn't ask."

Sam blinked, surprised by that confession, but then, after all he'd seen, maybe he shouldn't have been. Whether he wanted it or not, Dean had been given a tremendous amount of power over him. Sam felt ashamed by his surprise that his brother had rarely exercised it.

Sam saw Dean's hunts, his reckless behavior, the pain of losing his first innocent. The endless stream of faceless women who were but a moment of light in an otherwise dark world. Countless barroom brawls as his brother had plied the only trade he'd ever known.

Tears slipped gently down his face as he saw his brother sitting on a dingy hotel bed, the room pitch black, except for the light of the cell phone he had cradled in his hands. Blood glistened on his side from the dim light, the pain from the wound nearly his undoing. One button would call his younger brother, would connect him to a voice he desperately needed to hear in his darkest moments. Sam closed his eyes against the resolve he could feel flowing through his brother as Dean closed the phone, determined to give Sam the silence he had requested.

Sam swallowed. He hadn't realized, when he'd shut the door on their lifestyle, that he had also shut out his brother, who practically embodied everything he was determined to leave behind. Dean had faced so much alone, had wanted to reach out, but wouldn't go back on his choice to let Sam go. Sam found himself flinching away from the many times Dean had nearly died, alone, in a dirty motel room. No one would have known. Dean had been so sure it was his place to suffer in silence, his punishment for failing to keep his family together.

He felt the guilt, shame and horror as Dean begged for his help in finding their father, felt that guilt triple when Jessica was killed, almost surpassing even his own. Drowning in the knowledge that he had failed to protect his charge by failing to protect something that was obviously so vital to him. Accepting a fault that had never been his.

But Dean was Dean, and saw it differently. For the first time, Sam got to see how much had been hidden behind that smirk and off handed comment.

"_I can't do this alone."_

"_Yes you can."_

"_Yeah, okay, but I don't want to."_

Sam could feel it, the guilt that later came from those words. He had to admit that, he, too, had blamed Dean at first for using those words against him. Dean had never asked for anything. When he finally had, it simply wasn't in him to deny that plea. And so Dean had learned, once again, the cost of wanting for himself. This time, it had been Jessica's life, and Sam's faith in him. Sam cringed, knowing this one absolute truth about his brother. Dean never made the same mistake twice, and those rare words had never passed his lips again.

The weight that Dean already carried settled heavily as their father laid the burden of their work on the young man's shoulders, that simple journal that had become all but the family bible reaching far to attach chains of responsibility on a soul already too old for it's time.

In some ways, Dean's conviction that this was right, that they helped people, made Sam feel very small. His own reasons for hunting now were no less nobler than his fathers. Revenge had driven them both, while his brother had forged ahead, seeing his duty clearly and willingly accepting it. If sometimes it hurt to much to deal with, then that, too, was part of the game they played.

He watched himself walk away from Dean yet again, determined to do this his own way, to rebel against his father in any way he could, even if it meant finding him when he didn't want to be found. Dean let him go, once again, because Sam wanted.

_Dean sighed into the cell phone, his brief moment of levity gone._

"_Sam. You were right. You gotta do your own thing. You gotta live your own life"._

_"Are you serious?" Sam asked on the other end._

_Dean nodded. "You've always known what you want. And you go after it. You stand up to Dad. And you always have. Hell, I wish I - anyway... .I admire that about you. I'm proud of you, Sammy."_

Sam frowned. He had occasionally wondered what Dean had been unable to say that day on the phone. Being so closely attuned to him now, he finally got his answer. '_I wish I had been strong enough to spare you from it all, I wish I could have given you your normal life, I wish I could have helped you understand who Dad is, and why I _had_ to be the one to accept it, that it was the only chance I could give you'_. All desires to once again give Sam what he had wanted most all his life, the one and only thing Dean had been forced to deny his younger sibling whatever was asked.

Then Dean was dying, and Sam couldn't help the laugh that popped out of him, strange in the somber mood. "You really _did_ want to hunt that fabric softener teddy bear!" he accused incredulously.

Dean arched an eyebrow at him. "This coming from the man who's afraid of clowns?"

"How are you holding up?" Sam asked, trying to distract himself from the knowledge seeping into him that Dean really had been ready and willing to die then, to rest at long last. The soul deep weariness that had become such a permanent fixture since Dean was a child growing heavier as the chance to finally give in had been offered, and then taken away.

Dean shrugged. "It's getting a little boring, actually. I've already seen this show a few times." But there was a shaky quality to his voice that would have let Sam know he wasn't as fine as he was appearing, even without his window to his brother's emotions.

Sam remained silent, somehow knowing Dean needed that mask to remain in place if he was going to survive this. They rescued their father from the demons, forcing Dean to use a precious bullet in order to save Sam's life. There was no remorse with the action. It was a simple equation to Dean. Sam was in danger, and the threat had to be eliminated immediately.

"_Killing that guy, killing Meg... I didn't hesitate, I didn't even flinch," Dean spoke out, refusing to look at his brother as he spoke. "For you or Dad, the things I'm willing to do or kill... it just, ah, it scares me sometimes."_

That softly spoken admission hadn't even hinted at the true terror in his brothers soul, forcing Dean to wonder just where he would draw the line when it came to his family. The horrifying acceptance that there was never going to _be_ a line to cross. For his family, he would do anything it was within his power to do, and then some.

They watched as a possessed John nearly killed his oldest son. He winced as he felt the impact and truth of those words hurt Dean more than the torture the demon was inflicting. Even as his mind shied away from it, a part of his brother knew the demon wasn't lying, that he'd been witness to it's verity his entire life. It hurt Sam that he couldn't refute it, not then, and not now.

Dean's panic that Sam might kill their father just to end a twenty year revenge oath nearly unhinged him. Sam had to calm his own breathing to fight it back, reminding himself that those feelings weren't his, that in the end, he hadn't been able to do as his father had ordered. He felt lightheaded as Dean's overpowering relief shuddered through him, threatening to send him spiraling into darkness.


	12. I Get It

AN: This might be a little confusing, but don't worry... all will be explained in the upcoming chapters.

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Chapter 12

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The car accident was a blurred memory, reflecting Dean's physical state at the time. But Sam could clearly feel the pride for him when he had told his Dad that, no, not everything was more important than their revenge.

The memories of the hospital were even more hazy, and neither could see a clear image. Words drifted in and out, some clear, others a bare breath in the background, a tangle of sound that was difficult to locate any distinctive order to it.

"_Come on, Dad. You've gotta help me. I've gotta get better, I've gotta get back in there. I mean, you haven't called a soul for help. You haven't even tried. Aren't you going to do anything? Aren't you even going to say anything? I've done everything you've ever asked me. Everything. I have given everything I've ever had. And you're just going to sit there and you're going to watch me die? I mean, what the hell kind of father are you?"_

"_I said SHUT UP!" The sound of glass shattering ringing through._

"_The fight's over," a woman's voice came from the mess of sounds.  
_

"_No, it isn't."_

"It is for you, Dean. You're not the first soldier I've plucked from the field. They all feel the same. They can't leave. Victory hangs in the balance. But they're wrong. The battle goes on without them."

"My brother. He could die without me."

"Maybe he will, maybe he won't. Nothing you can do about it. It's an honorable death. A warrior's death." 

Sam closed his eyes. Dean's fear hadn't been of death. Never something so simple as merely death. Dean had known that Sam wasn't ready for this life yet. He wasn't ready to be on his own yet. It was why Dean had allowed himself to be pulled back from death so many times before now. As he had promised that tiny baby so many years ago, he would stay until he wasn't needed any more.

Dean had never figured out that Sam would always need him. His entire sense of stability, home, love and security were wrapped up in the man who had raised him, had been Sam's only constant in his life. For a moment, Sam wished the link went both ways, so his brother could feel how lost he had been without him, how utterly terrified that the only good thing in his life would simply slip away from him. It was a cold terror that still haunted his dreams at night.

And then there was the basic truth that lingered beneath the complicated surface of all that had happened. Dean had been raised a warrior, a soldier, and he hadn't been relieved of the duty that had been handed to him twenty years before in the form of a helpless baby wrapped tightly in a blanket. Once again, Sam had to fight the flare up of anger at their father, careful to keep his expression neutral. Dean had never needed a psychic link to know how he was feeling, or what he was thinking, and now was _not_ the time to get into their age old argument.

Sammy turned to get the coffee his father had requested, feeling his life find it's balance once again now that his brother was awake and out of danger. Sam felt tears in his eyes as he watched, regretting that he'd never had a chance to say good bye. His father may not have won any awards, but love him or hate him, he was his father. Pushing it down, he turned to the last conversation between his brother and father.

"_What is it?" Dean asked, perceptive as ever, his gut screaming at him that something was wrong, something wasn't right._

John smiled. "You know, when you were a kid, I'd come home from a hunt, and after what I'd seen, I'd be, I'd be wrecked. And you, you'd come up to me and you, you'd put your hand on my shoulder and you'd look me in the eye and you'd... You'd say "It's okay, Dad" John blinked away tears. "Dean, I'm sorry."  


"_What?" No, this wasn't right. His father _never_ apologized. It was what he said it was, and that was that._

"You shouldn't have had to say that to me, I should have been saying that to you. You know, I put, I put too much on your shoulders, I made you grow up too fast. You took care of Sammy, you took care of me. You did that, and you didn't complain, not once. I just want you to know that I am so proud of you."

"This really you talking?" Dean asked, slightly suspicious after recent events, ever the vigilant hunter his father had taught him to be. It seemed to sadden his father more, but he nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's really me."

"Why are you saying this stuff?"

John moved closer, putting a hand on Dean's shoulder.

"I want you to watch out for Sammy, okay?"

"Yeah, Dad, you know I will. You're scaring me." Understatement. The tears on John's face were absolutely terrifying_ him. His instincts were telling him this was good-bye, but he didn't understand why, or what was happening. His training was bone deep, however, and he didn't dare question his father._

"Don't be scared, Dean," John replied, leaning over and whispering something in sons ear. Dean pulled back, shocked, horrified. The rush of denial was swift, quickly burned out and replaced with an overwhelming weight of responsibility, desperation and fear.

The confusion, pain, guilt and knowledge that Dean had carried silently after their father died was crushing Sam, even feeling them second hand. He had known something was off, but he had never suspected the depth of it, the endless abyss of knowing that Dean had lost one of the two people who made up his entire world.

But even worse was Dean's knowledge of _why_ John had made the deal. It hadn't been to save his life, as Sam had desperately hoped. It was because John knew the soldier he had trained. Dean would succeed where he, himself, had failed, and would fail again if he couldn't save his youngest. But Dean, he would do what was right, every time, and ignore the cost to himself. Sam had proven that his desire for revenge could only burn so brightly for so long when he had refused to kill their possessed father. He had his limits.

Laden with guilt and burdened with his father's mission, Dean would be relentless in seeing it through. In order to protect Sam, Dean would have to kill the Yellow Eyed Demon, and nothing would stand in his way, not for long._  
_

Slowly, Sam began to piece together the truth Dean had always known, and somehow had found a way to live with. The man he so worshiped valued him as a soldier, as a weapon that had been carefully, even lovingly, molded and crafted, but could be disposed of once it's use was finished. It, too, had been accepted as his due.

Dean's words in Rivergrove made sense now. Sam had railed against them, but he hadn't known, then, the driving force behind them. Hadn't understood the task that had been heaped on his brother's shoulders by their dying father. What he would have given for that knowledge during their conversation in the clinic. Everything would have been so much clearer, and he could have found a way to help.

"_No, you can keep going," Sam argued desperately._

"Who says I want to?" Dean shot back. He wouldn't leave Sam alone to die, no matter how his brother begged or pleaded. It wasn't in him. He would be there until the end for Sam, no matter when that was. That was his job, his responsibility.  


"_What?" Sam questioned, shocked._

Dean crossed to the other wall and pulled a handgun out of his waistband before sitting on the file cabinet.

"I'm tired, Sam. I'm tired of this job, this life... this weight on my shoulders, man. I'm tired of it," Dean sighed. Soul deep bone weary tired. And there had been no end in sight, until now. He wouldn't leave Sam to die alone, wished with everything he was that he could save him, but he wouldn't lie to his brother and pretend it wasn't a small relief either.

Dean closed his eyes against the defeat he could hear in his own voice. However Sam was connected to his emotions, he didn't need to be connected to his younger brother to see the pain that admission had caused. His guilt at his willingness to once again give up ate at him. Too many times he had been presented with the option of death, and too many times Sam had somehow managed to drag him away. But the thought of losing his brother left him cold, and empty. He couldn't go on alone. It wasn't in him. And it was a truth he had come to accept about himself.

He felt his knees shaking, weakening under the onslaught of constant memories. Each one renewed every thought, every feeling he'd experienced the first time, and allowed room for regret, guilt or shame that came from knowing what happened next. Having to relive each physical trauma as though it was the first time wearing down his body. It was a triple dose, and it was eating away at his soul.

"Dean?" Sam called, his voice sounding far away. "Dean, come on, wake up."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief when those green eyes slowly opened. "Thank god. Are you okay?"

"What happened?" Dean asked, confused.

"You passed out."

"How is that even possible? I mean, we're not real."

Sam worried at his bottom lip with his teeth. "It means your physical body is dying. We're running out of time. Can you stand?"

Dean tried, but his legs wouldn't respond. It was if all of his muscles had turned to jelly, and raced liquid fire down his veins any time he moved. "I hate to admit this, but I don't think so."

He tried again, crying out through gritted teeth as he moved, but Sam put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. His concern turned to a glare when he realized that Dean had somehow managed to keep his physical pain from coming through their link as the floodgates were suddenly fully opened. "Damn you for being so stubborn," Sam hissed. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Dean shrugged. "It didn't matter. We were a little caught up, in case you hadn't noticed."

Hanging his head, Sam realized that this was a common pattern for Dean. His brother truly didn't think he deserved any attention for himself. If Sam had pulled this stunt, Dean would have skinned him alive. Now was not the time to address Dean's stubborn refusal to admit he was human, however.

Turning back to the memories that were still playing out, Sam watched as his brother shed a tear for the loss of Sam's final innocence in having to kill someone he cared for because of what they had become. He'd never seen Dean flinch from the sound of a bullet before, and Sam felt the war being waged in Dean between doing it for him, desperately willing to do anything to spare his Sammy from having to make that kill, and knowing allowing Sam to complete Madison's request was the right thing to do. As much as Sam wished he could have folded to that offer, knowing even then Dean's offer was sincere, his time away at school had changed him, had taught him responsibility for his own actions. This was his own battle, not Dean's.

Dean's seemingly effortless ability to mix with any crowd had been a small matter of concern to Sam. His brother was a hero, so how was it he fit in so well with the dirt that had accumulated in this pit of human waste? Dean seemed to have found like souls in the men in the prison. For a few moments, he had even seemed, content, as though he had finally found a place he belonged.

"_Dean, does it bother you at all how easily you seem to fit in here?" Sam asked._

"_No, not really," Dean grinned. And it didn't. He knew these people. Knew their type. _His_ type. He knew Sammy would never get it, would never approve of it, but he felt more comfortable here than he had in a lot of other places. Here, they played by rules he understood._

Sam shook his head. Dean had been right, he wouldn't have understood then, but he did now. Dean had recognized a like kind in them, all hunters, even if their prey was different. He also knew his brother had seen them all as innocents, in their own way. Life had molded them as surely as their father had carefully shaped him. In Dean's eyes, there was good and evil, it was that simple. Those men weren't hellspawn, so in some odd way, that made them good, worth protecting.

After the prison, Sam felt the air around them grow thicker and the images flickered, as though something was trying to extinguish them. Looking back to his brother, he was surprised to see Dean rocking, holding his hands tightly to his temples. Realizing what was happening, Sam gasped.

"No, Dean! We have to finish this! Don't fight it," Sam insisted. He knew what was coming next. It was Dean's experience with the Djinn. He'd already been told about it, and wondered why this memory seemed to push his brother closer to edge than any of the others had.

He could feel Dean shaking under his hand, the effort of holding the memory at bay draining what little strength he had left. He felt the few defenses Dean had managed to maintain fall away, opening himself completely to Sam, and mentally bowed under the onslaught. "Please, Dean," Sam begged gently. "Just hang on. Let it happen."

Dean shook his head, panting through the pain engulfing him. "Not this. I can't."

"Yes you can. I'm here, and we'll get through this together. Christ, after everything we've seen, it can't be that bad. But we have to do this!" Sam was near frantic. If Dean died here, then his physical body would die as well. "Dean, if you die here, there's no going back for either of us. I'm trapped here until you see it through."

Dean looked up, his green eyes glazed with a pain so profound Sam flinched back. But it worked, and Dean released his hold on the memory, once again willing to give anything for Sam's safety.

Sam turned to watch the memory, curious to see how much his brother had left out in his description of events. It hurt to know that even in this fantasy world, Dean still couldn't say those three magic words, not even to his mother. 'I Love You' just wasn't in Dean's vocabulary, almost as though he was afraid of the power they held. For Dean, his experiences had taught him that if he loved, he lost. Nor was it his own feelings he was trying to spare. Death followed him wherever they went. It simply wasn't in him to put someone else at risk like that.

Dean's pleasure at such an inane task as mowing the lawn brought on another flood of tears. It was so simple, such a small thing to wish for. But there it was. For twenty minutes while he forced the lush grass to bend to his will, all was right in Dean's world.

He was surprised to learn just how glad Dean had been to see Jessica by Sam's side, alive and well. Discovering that Dean had loved Jess almost as much as he did purely because she made Sam happy was a shock. He had never seen Dean smile like he had when he realized his baby brother finally had everything he had ever wanted. He was in law school, had Jessica by his side and had been raised by loving parents. It hurt when Sam saw himself come down on Dean for the beer in his hand, when Dean's wonderfully bright smile had faded as Sammy had landed sharp barbs for forgetting their mothers birthday, but stubbornly remained in place.

The announcement of his and Jessica's engagement sent torrents of happiness through the brother's connection. Dean hadn't been just glad his brother was happy, he'd been fulfilled, as if in that moment, nothing else mattered. The fact that they didn't get along was just something to be worked on, and if not, then Sammy had his life, his happiness. His family thought he was a drunk and a loser, but that, too, was okay, because he could carry that load. It seemed so much lighter than what he had been forced to endure in his previous life.

Sam closed his eyes as he realized that once again, Dean neither wanted nor expected anything for himself in that world. His family was alive, healthy and together. He wasn't happy, but Dean could be content with what had been offered.

But Dean was who- what- he was. When the strange girl appeared again, Dean had to find out what was going on. When he discovered all those people had died, Dean had once again been faced with the choice of his brothers happiness, or doing the right thing. And the choice nearly tore him apart as he stood in front of their father's grave.

"_All of them. Everyone that you saved, everyone Sammy and I saved. They're all dead. And there's this woman that's haunting me. I don't know why. I don't know what the connection is, not yet anyway. It's like my old life is coming after me or something. Like it- like it doesn't want me to be happy. Course I know what you'd say. Well, not the you that played softball but.. 'So go hunt the Djinn. He put you here, it can put you back. Your happiness for all those people's lives? No contest.' Right? But why? Why is it my job to save these people? Why do I have to be some kind of hero?" Dean choked, fighting back tears. "What about us, huh? Mom's not supposed to live her life? Sammy's not supposed to get married? Why do we have to sacrifice everything, Dad? It's.."_

_The sky rumbled as Dean nodded to himself. His tears broke loose, and he allowed it. In the end, there was never a choice to make. Even for Sammy's happiness, he couldn't ignore his responsibilities, couldn't ignore that it was his job to do the right thing._

"Yeah." Dean walked away from the grave, his shoulders once again dragging under the weight of his burden. In the end, there had never been a choice. 

Sam shook his head. It wasn't fair that Dean had learned to never want for himself, that his entire life had been wrapped up in Sam's wellbeing. He was beginning to realize that he had never truly sacrificed anything. What he'd had, had been taken from him. He would never have willingly let it go. It was Dean who'd been forced to sacrifice everything, even who he was, for the life they had led, for everything that Sam had taken for granted, for a cause Sam had been too selfish to see the right of.

He frowned as Dean lied to the fantasy brother, telling him what that Sam would have expected to hear. Hated that even though it hadn't really been him, that Sam accepted the surface plausible explanation Dean had provided.  
_  
"I can't believe we're even related."_

Sam near cried out at the stab of pain that went through their connection, those few words causing his brother more pain than even their father's had. He hated that Dean felt the need to apologize to him. Hated that the brother that appeared in the Impala only went to prevent his brother from doing something so stupid it would get him killed, would upset the family.

He nearly laughed when he watched his fake self be such a wimp about a little lamb's blood, and a creepy building. Seeing the Djinn, watching Dean put it all together with his brother fighting him every step of the way when he should have been trying to help, reminded Sam that Dean had been Hunting for a very long time, and had instincts Sam just couldn't develop as he rebelled against their way of life.

He couldn't stop himself from crying out when Dean made it clear he intended to stab himself in order to wake himself up. He felt Dean grab his hand in a silent reminder that it was just a memory, that he had survived, they had defeated the Djinn.

_Mary took Dean's chin her hand, and he looked down at her. "No more pain." She stroked his cheek. "Or fear. Just love and comfort. And safety. Dean, stay with us." She palmed his other cheek, and Dean couldn't stop himself from leaning into it, closing his eyes and picturing, just for a moment, that he could accept. "Get some rest."_

"_You don't have to worry about Sam anymore," Jessica offered. Dean looked over at her, wishing with everything he was that it was true, that he could hand those reigns of responsibility to her. "You get to watch him live a full life."_

_Mary stepped away, making room for Carmen to move in, taking his face in her hands, kissing him. "We can have a future together. Have our own family. I love you, Dean. Please." And oh how he had wanted that, once upon a time. But he couldn't. He was a Hunter, down to his very soul. A normal life had never been an option for him._

_Sam walked up to him. "Why is it our job to save everyone? Haven't we done enough? I'm begging you," he took a deep breath. "Give me the knife."_

_Dean looked at Carmen, Sam and Mary with tears in his eyes. Then he backed away from them, keeping his eyes on the floor. He raised his head, looking at Sam._

"_I'm sorry," he whispered, meaning so much more than his actions here. He wanted this life for his brother, but he couldn't allow those people to die. Not even to give his brother the happiness he deserved. He thrust the knife into himself, feeling the blood as it welled up his throat._

"Oh god, Dean," Sam sobbed.

"It's okay, Sammy. It was just to wake me up," Dean whispered, the need to comfort his brother bringing him out of the darkness he had fallen into. This memory was perhaps one of the most painful he had. He'd wanted so very badly to let Sam have the life in that dream, the life he had taken away by coming back into his brother's life. "I'm sorry," he confessed again.

"For what, Dean? I'm glad you were able to bring yourself out of it. Most people wouldn't have had the strength," Sam said, unintentionally echoing himself in the memory.

"I wanted to stay. I wanted that life for you. But it couldn't come at the cost of those people's lives, and for that I'm sorry."

Sam nodded, not liking how weak Dean's voice was, or his hitched breathing, like he was struggling to draw in air as shallowly as possible. He wanted to put it all down to the trauma his brother had been forced to experience again, but because of their connection, he knew better. Sand was slipping through on their hourglass. "It wasn't real, Dean. This, us, now, _this_ is real. We'll both have our someday, but for now, this is what we're supposed to be doing."

"Sam, I can't go through the next one. I can't watch you die again," Dean admitted, hating himself for his weakness but understanding on a deep level that it would destroy him. He knew Sam couldn't deal with the truth that lay in that memory, but so long as they were connected, this was the only way to protect Sam from it.

"Bobby told me about what you said to him, when I died. How you were before you made the deal, and after."

Dean smiled and nodded. Sam's eyes filled with renewed tears as he felt something that had been missing from Dean since this all began. Peace flowed through the connection, a sense of rightness that settled with more certainty than Dean had ever felt.

"Dean," Sam started, silently begging his brother to fight, to _want_ to live, but now starting to see that Dean wouldn't. A sacrifice had been asked and willingly given, once again, in order to preserve everything Dean held dear.

"I promised you I would be there as long as you needed me," Dean whispered gently, the final piece of the puzzle sliding into place. He knew now, what was happening. Could feel it resting on the edge of his soul. He had almost died to do it, but he finally _got_ it.

"I still do. I always will."

Dean shook his head, smiling softly. "No, you don't, Sammy. You're ready to be on your own, to make your life whatever it's gonna be." Dean winced as a wave of pain washed over him. "I wish I could be there to see it, but I get it. As long as I'm around, you're never going to have it."

"We both will, Dean," Sam insisted desperately, certain that he was losing his brother. "We still have a year to find the answer. Don't give up on me now."

Dean sighed, once again unable to deny his brothers request. He nodded. "We're done here. I know it's true name. I understand now."

Sam frowned, but didn't waste any time in asking. He stood up, pulling his brother with him. Together they turned away from the memories. Sam's eyes widened as he saw the formless shadow behind them. He shivered from the evil that permeated it, but there was something there, something familiar about it too. He couldn't quite place it, and before he could try, Dean's soft voice carried over the void, drifting into the creature like coming home.

"Satya."


	13. Strong Enough To Carry Us All

AN: Thank you to all for helping me break my 100 review record! Here are the final chapters, mass posted as promised. It was either break them up into smaller ones, or have one very, very long one. I learned my lesson there, for those who have followed me from the Alex Rider Fandom, lol.

As this will be my final AN, I would like to thank everyone who stuck with me on this story as it progressed. Your kind thoughts and words have inspired me, thrilled me, and sometimes helped it be worth getting up in the morning.

So, enjoy what's left of the summer, and until next story time.

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Chapter 13

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Sam gasped as his eyes flew open. Darting around, he realized he was back in Bobby's spare room, and the old hunter was hovering anxiously over him, a look of panic on his face.

"Sam?" Bobby demanded.

"Yeah. How's Dean?" Sam croaked, shaking his head to force away the images lingering there.

Bobby frowned. "Not good. He was in convulsions just before you woke up. I was getting ready to call an ambulance, your opinion be damned, when they just stopped. He hasn't woken up yet. You?"

Sam closed his eyes, his breath hitching trying to stop the sob in his throat even as his stomach churned, all he had learned resting there in a knot. "Oh god, Bobby. I didn't know. All he's done, been through... I didn't know."

Bobby sighed and nodded sagely, his own eyes shimmering. "I don't think any of us ever really did. I think we just took it for granted that he was strong enough to carry us all."

Sam looked at him in confusion, a question in his eyes. Had Bobby seen what he had? Had he been connected too? Bobby smirked.

"I watched him grow up, Sam. I watched what your father did to him, watched you both take as much as you could. Seeing your reaction just now, I can well imagine it was a bit of a wake up call. You should get some rest."

Sam shook his head. "Not until he wakes up. Where's Sarah?"

"She left after she made sure you were in. It was out of her hands from there and she didn't want to watch it all go South. Didn't have as much faith in you boys as a team as I did. We've done all we can. Time's up. Either this worked, or it didn't. We won't know for a while yet. In the meantime, he'd rip us both a new one if you're not looked after. And right now you need some rest," Bobby insisted. "Sam, don't blame yourself for whatever happened in there. And don't blame Dean, either. He did what he had to do."

Sam rolled away from their old friend without answering. Maybe more than rest, he needed time to work through had he had seen, and what to do with the information now that he had. Blame himself? Most definitely. Blame Dean? It wasn't possible. But he knew who did share a large part of the blame, and for the first time since their father had died, Sam wished the man was still around to fight with. He was pretty sure he'd kill him.

Bobby walked away from Sam's bed, sitting in a chair beside Dean's. He had watched the boys grow up. They were as close as he would ever come to having sons. Watching Dean put himself last had near driven him insane, and he had tried, as much as he could, to offer what the boys father wouldn't. Unfortunately, Dean could never accept it. Not from him. It wasn't needed from him.

John Winchester had been a rat bastard for putting all he had onto his eldest, and he suspected his own knowledge barely skimmed the surface of what Dean had truly endured. On some level, he understood this had the potential to make or break the brothers close relationship. Dean had kept a lot of secrets over the years, had hidden what he'd judged the others didn't need to deal with, and had taken it all on himself.

Would he retreat again now that Sam knew? Or would he allow himself to see the second chance he had been given? Bobby ran a tired hand over his weathered face. Only time would tell.

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Sam turned around, stunned to find himself in a room filled with an opaque light. Were they still in Dean's head? No, he remembered talking to Bobby. So what was going on? Was he dreaming?

"Sam."

He turned, stunned to see his father standing in front of him. "Dad?"

"Yeah, it's me. And yes, you're dreaming."

"How? Why?"

John shrugged. "I'm not sure. Maybe you reached out to me, to someone who knows your brother and can help explain what you can't. I wish I could help you, Sammy, but I can't. I think the only one who really knows Dean is Dean. And even that I'm not willing to bet on. Or maybe you had something you wanted to say to me. I really don't know, but I'm here now. "

"Why didn't you tell me? How could you put something like that on his shoulders? How could you ask him to carry it alone?" Sam accused.

"I knew he wouldn't. Not for long. I knew when the time was right, he would tell you. He's a strong man, but you're the only thing he won't risk, Sammy. Keeping you in the dark about it would have been dangerous, but you weren't ready to hear it, not then, and not from me. It had to be him."

"Do you know what's happening to Dean?" Sam demanded, shying away from his own reaction when Dean had told him those whispered last words from their father. If he had reacted like that from his brother, a man he knew could make it all better, how would he have reacted hearing those words from his father?

"I know everything you know. Sam, you have to remember, that for everything you saw, there was so much you didn't."

Sam nodded and swallowed. "I know. I think that's what scares me."

John shook his head. "What I did to him, it was wrong. I wish I could take it all back, but I can't. And I'm sorry I can't help you now. I needed Dean to protect you, because on some level, even then, I knew I couldn't do it. That my obsession would always come first. In turning him into that soldier, I forgot, along the way, that he was my son." John sighed. "I could see it happening. I could see the power he had over you, and I hated it. I couldn't give you an order without you questioning it, but Dean, he could find a way to make peace with us both. For all that I needed it, I hated it."

"_You_ gave him that power!" Sam growled.

"Yeah, I did. I taught- trained- him to protect you at all costs. I just never expected it to backfire on me."

Anger flooded through Sam as he realized what his father was admitting to. "My god. You thought he betrayed you when that training kicked in, even if it meant protecting me from you."

"It was the only times Dean ever disobeyed me," John admitted quietly. "Sammy, that night we took on the Vampires in Colorado, and he pushed us apart, turned to me and said 'that means you, too', it was one of the proudest and worst moments of my life. The look in his eyes- I knew in that instant that he'd kill me if he felt I was a threat to you. He'd make that choice without hesitation. If it came down to you or me, you'd win, hands down, every time, even if he destroyed himself in the process. And I did that. I did that to my boy, and I had to live with that. I never claimed to be perfect."

Sam closed his eyes, hearing the regret in his father's voice, but was unable to rid himself of the anger toward the man that had taken his brother's free will and sense of self worth from him. He knew John was right, had sensed it the same moment he had. For all his own grievances against him, Sam knew this sin against his brother would forever be the worst.

"The day you died, it was so much easier for Dean to believe you might be possessed again than to believe you actually told him you were proud of him. Perfect, Dad? We never asked for perfect," Sam choked.

"Dean never asked for _anything_," John pointed out in his own defense.

"You can't seriously be trying to blame that on Dean? His life has been a living hell. He _lost_ himself to follow _you_! To take up _your_ quest!" Sam cried out in angry frustration. Then he quieted. "And to protect me. He deserved better than that. Better than what we took from him."

And he understood now. It wasn't that Dean had never asked. He had, a hundred times, he had asked for but one small thing, for a family, _his _family. But they hadn't been listening, hadn't been paying attention to the soft outcry of a young boy who had kept only one small desire burning in his loyal heart, delicately feeding the dying flame every ounce of hope he could scrape from the disaster that was their lives.

John opened his hands. "What man can call himself a hero if he doesn't bleed from his own heart? If he doesn't know the cost of sacrifice, then how can he claim it's right? Sometimes, Sammy, we have to sacrifice what we are for what we will become. Just sometimes, things have to be broken before they can be molded into something stronger."

"But it's too much," Sam whispered miserably.

John nodded sadly. "It's supposed to be. Dean can't become strong enough to make it through the coming war without it."

"He's not a damn weapon! He's a human being!" Sam hissed viciously.

"In a war, Sam, there's no difference. Dean understands that, maybe even more than I ever did. More than you ever could. He knows the _true_ definition of sacrifice, knows it's about more than losing someone you love. When the time comes, he'll do the right thing. He always does. And you need to be prepared for that."

"He's only got a year," Sam sighed. "The deal he made to give me back my life- and if I can't figure out how to save him, it won't matter. Will all this have been worth it then? When he's rotting in hell?"

"Sam, you have to have faith that Dean's suffering wasn't in vain, that there are bigger plans for him. If nothing else, trust in your brother, as you always have. He's never let you down before," John replied. He turned to look at something Sam couldn't see, and smiled. "You have to go now, he's awake. He'll need to make sure you're okay."

"Dad-"

John smiled at his youngest. "There's nothing more to say. We've all done the best we could with what he had. It has to be enough. Watch out for yourself, Sammy, and keep your faith in Dean. I know it's a lot to ask, especially at a time like this, but he needs you. For all your psychic visions, he sees more than either of us could even begin to understand."

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Sam woke to voices, one tinged with frustration, the other weak but clearly determined. Dean and Bobby. Blinking back the images from his dream, he threw back the covers and quickly made his way to his brother's side.

"It's okay, Dean. I'm here, I'm okay," he soothed, laying a hand on the bare shoulder, surprised and relieved not to feel the heat that had been radiating dangerously from it only hours ago. Dean stopped struggling instantly, instead trying to sit up enough to inspect Sam, those barely alert eyes scanning his own for any signs of damage, physical or otherwise. "Take it easy, I swear I'm okay. Get some rest."

Dean slowly nodded and allowed the exhaustion he had been feeling overtake him. Without ever having said a word to Sam, but making his concerns clear nonetheless, Dean relaxed into sleep. Sam looked up to find Bobby shaking his head.

"I don't think I'll _ever_ get over seeing that in action," he grinned. "His fever broke about an hour ago. It worked, whatever you did in there, it worked. I've already managed to get some water into him, and it stayed down. I won't call him out of the danger zone yet, but he's on the right track."

Sam smiled in relief, having desperately needed to hear that from the more experienced hunter. "It was pretty close for a while. He's going to be weak. Do you mind if we hang around for a bit?"

Bobby immediately reached out and cuffed him.

Sam scowled. "What was that for?" But he knew. It was a celebration. They had won a victory here today, even if neither truly understood what it was they had defeated. And it really didn't matter. For today, Dean was alive and on the mend. They would look after tomorrow when it came.

"For askin', you idgit."


	14. Truth

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Chapter 14

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Two weeks rolled by slowly in a haze of routine as Dean worked to regain his strength. As soon as he was able to be up out of bed, he'd taken to spending his days outside, working around the yard and fiddling with the Impala. Sam took advantage of it, reading up on everything he could find about deals, understanding that Dean, in his silence, had made a request for time. So Sam dove into the research, but there was nothing that could save his brother.

Remembering the peace he had felt from his brother, Sam occasionally wondered if he had the right to try and break it. After everything, didn't Dean deserve the chance to rest? To lay down his arms and be at peace? But then, what peace could be found in hell? In his dream, John had told him to have faith in Dean, to believe in his knowledge that his brother would always do the right thing. Was there a reason Dean wasn't fighting the deal? Why he protested so vehemently when Sam tried?

Standing, Sam walked over to the window and watched Dean work with Bobby on his precious baby. Dean hadn't spoken much to either of them, seemed to be content to take the time he needed to retreat into himself once again, and Sam wasn't sure that it was his place to stop that from happening.

His invincible brother had been brought to his knees by his own memories. That kind of damage didn't disappear after two weeks of near silence. Even Bobby had kept a wide berth of the subject. Shouldn't that be a hint to Sam to do the same?

He wished he could simply let it go, but he couldn't. He had seen too much, watched an invisible enemy almost kill Dean. Wouldn't hiding from it just confirm the message that it had been trying to send? And there _had_ been a message, that much he had put together himself. The Mercury symbol hadn't been burned onto Dean's chest for nothing. Spirit, mind, and communication. It had been a hint, a clue. If Dean had realized that, had told him what was going on, could they have stopped this from happening?

He needed to know, now more than ever, that he could trust Dean to not only do the right thing when needed, but to do the right thing for himself, as well.

Sighing, he stepped outside. Putting it off would only allow Dean the time to build his defenses again, and Sam couldn't afford for that to happen.

"Hey Dean," he started. "Can we talk?"

Bobby stood, taking a long look at Sam. As much as he loved this boy, he wasn't blind to the fact that Dean's efforts to give him everything had made him a little selfish. If he pushed too hard now, Dean would close up sooner than either was ready for.

Sam saw Bobby's concern, and gave him a small nod. His eyes weren't closed anymore. He would tread carefully. It was time to put into practice what he had claimed the night the hellgate had opened. He really would do anything for Dean, and now he had a better appreciation for just what that meant.

"I'm gonna run and grab us a case of beer, Dean. You good?" Bobby asked, needing to make sure he was ready for what he obviously knew was coming, despite Sam's assurances.

Dean smiled. "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks, Bobby." Not exactly a smooth exit, since both Bobby and Sam had refused to allow Dean any alcohol until he had regained a large percentage of the weight he had lost during his illness, but he appreciated the effort nonetheless.

Both boys waited until they heard the engine start before looking back at each other.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked, wanting to make sure his brother was up for this conversation. He looked better, some decent meals had put a little weight back on, and there was a healthy color to his skin now from his time outside in the sun. He still had dark circles around his eyes, and his nightmares were as vicious, if not as frequent, as ever, but no one was expecting him to bounce back from this unscathed. The burn on his chest had faded into a light scar, instantly healed with the destruction of it's cause. The symbols Knight had carved into his back were healing at a more normal rate, but would barely leave a trace of their presence.

Dean sighed, crossed his arms, and leaned back against his car. He had been dreading this, but knew it had to happen, knew Sam wouldn't let it rest until it had. "Well enough to get this over with. What do you want to know?"

Sam looked away. There was so much he wanted to know, but there was something he really needed to get out, first. "Dean, before we- I mean, I just want to thank you."

Dean arched an eyebrow at the unexpected direction. "For what?"

Sam chuckled and looked up at the sun. "For my life, I guess. For everything I took, and for everything you gave. Thank you feels so small for what you've done. Dean, you loved and accepted a woman you had never met into our family, and under your protection, simply because she was mine. There are no words for that."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Jessica made you happy, Sammy, and she could give you what I couldn't. That was enough for me. I'm sorry we couldn't save her."

Sam smiled, loving his brother more for the 'we' than the quiet confession. He knew now that the night on the bridge in Jericho when Dean had asked whether or not Sam had shared his little secret occupation with her, it hadn't been meant as cruel, or an insensitive dig. Dean had wanted to protect her from the awful nightmares that followed wherever the Winchester's landed. Sam knew, without a doubt in his heart, that if Jessica were still alive, Dean would have been there for her as often and as selflessly as he had been for Sam.

These past years Sam had assumed that it was Dean's natural instinct that told him his brother was in danger and led him back to the apartment, that same instinct that had sent Dean looking for their father. Now, he knew Dean's instincts had expanded to include Sam's lover. An honorary member of their family was somehow being threatened, and he'd beat hellfire getting back to them. Had nearly drowned himself in guilt for failing, for not being able to save them both. In Dean's world, there was no greater sin than failing family.

It was the one enemy that could destroy his brother, Sam knew that now. It was why Dean couldn't watch him die again. Even then, Sam had understood that Dean was protecting him from his own emotions during that time. He'd seen enough now to be able to guess at the empty abyss Dean had fallen into, and also enough to know that he couldn't even begin to fathom the agony his brother must have suffered, a contradiction in that both were true. Dean existed for Sam. However it had come about, it was a simple fact. Without Sam, there was no life for Dean. The logic of it was achingly clear. If Sam was dead, then Dean didn't exist. If selling his soul protected that existence in whatever warped form it might be, then that was what had to be done.

Sam's heart was broken over the knowledge, and he suffered his own private agony in it. But for Dean, there had never been a choice to make. As with everything, it simply was.

Sam cleared his throat in an attempt to get rid of the lump that had formed there.

"How did you know it's true name?" he asked, moving away from a topic that was still painful for them both.

"I assume you've translated it by now?" Dean replied, more statement than question.

"It means 'Truth' in Sanskit. But I haven't been able to find any reference to a demi god of sorrow in any of Bobby's books." Dean chuckled as Sam seemed to take that quite personally, as though his precious books had finally failed him.

"You wouldn't. It doesn't exist. At least, not in terms of being our kind of Hunt."

Now Sam was really confused. "But all that stuff you said, you couldn't have just made that up."

"I didn't. I just didn't realize what it all actually meant. I took it too literally. Sorrow's true name is Truth, Sam, because it is a fundamental part of human existence. It can't be banished, only survived, because without it, no one would be challenged enough to overcome it," Dean explained softly. It had been a hard won discovery.

"But it almost killed you!" Sam protested.

Dean shook his head. "No, Sammy, _I _almost killed me. Everything just built up, and I couldn't deal with it. So, I did what I do best- I created something that I thought I could kill. I didn't realize at the time how much I didn't _want_ to kill it, how much I _wanted_ it to swallow me up. I gave it power it never should have had."

Sam swallowed as the weight of what his brother was saying settled on him. "That vault you kept locking everything into finally broke, and it hit you all at once, creating a physical manifestation of years of painful memories. That's why you figured it out only _after_ I got there. It wasn't because you needed the pieces of the puzzle I brought you, it was because up until then you had no reason to _want_ to solve it. You couldn't let go once I was there to protect." Hazel eyes looked to his older brother, begging for him to call him wrong, to deny that terrible truth.

Dean licked his lips, unable to deliver the wanted denial. "Yeah, that's about right. I'm tired, Sammy. I know you don't want to hear it, but man, I really am. When I made that deal, it felt so _right_, like things could finally be put back into balance. I knew, for the first time, that you didn't need me anymore. I understood, then. It's like I had one job, one mission. To protect you. And my job is almost over. A part of protecting you, Sammy, is letting you go. I thought I knew what that meant when I let you go off to school, when I didn't fall to my knees and beg you to stay. Then again when you walked off to find Dad. But I wasn't even close. Those were tests, teaching you to crawl. Now, baby brother, you're ready to walk on your own."

Sam blinked back tears. "But I'm not, Dean, and I wish I could make you see that. I'm not ready to let you go."

Dean smiled sadly. "And you never will be. That's my fault. In needing so much from you, I forced you to need me too, and made this so much harder for you than it should have been. For that, I'm sorry. But I swear to you, I wouldn't leave if I didn't think you were ready. It's my job to do what's best for you, even if it kills me. I've done that. One year, Sammy. That's all we have left. Do we really have to spend it fighting a war neither of us is going to win?"

"What war?" Sam asked, knowing in his gut that Dean wasn't referring to the endless good vs. evil struggle that they had inherited.

"Our war, Sammy. I'm tired. I _want_ to let go, because for once I get the feeling that you're going to be okay. And as selfish as it might be, I feel like I deserve it." Dean chuckled and shook his head, giving way to his growing understanding of his little brother. "But you won't let it happen. I know you. You'll fight this tooth and nail. I'm just saying that maybe, maybe we don't have to fight each other on it."

Sam sniffled. "Why do I get the feeling that even after everything we've just seen, I don't really know you at all? And never really did."

Dean shrugged. "Dude, come on. You _know_ I'd never let you face something I didn't think you were ready for. I did the best I could for you, to help you be ready for this. It's enough. It _has_ to be. The truth is, I can't do this without you."

"Dean-"

"No, Sammy. You wanted a share and care moment? Well here it is. Dad was right, you were right. I'm nothing without you and Dad. My whole life has been the two of you, and if that's gone, then what do I have left, huh? Where could I possibly go from there? This way- this way I know you're safe."

Sam closed his eyes, Rita's words coming back to him. _Our protectors, they can't survive without us... we let ourselves need them... in the end, they know we can survive without them._

"I'm sorry, Sam, for everything that's gotten us this far, but we had to play the cards we were dealt. Not every hand is a winner. Sometimes, we have to be content to break even."

"But it's not enough. I want you to fight this," Sam choked. "You fight for this family, no matter how many times we let you down. I don't understand why you can't fight for yourself just as hard. There _has_ to be more to your life than just watching over me. My god, Dean, you have to _want_ something. You did once."

"Yeah, and I gave it up, without regret. Do you know what _I _want?" Dean asked, shoving off the car and moving into his brothers personal space. "I want your life to be your own. Whatever you make of it. If that means a pretty girl and a thousand kids, then that's what I want for you. If it means that you go down swinging in this war, then that's what I want for you. I want you to be safe, loved and okay, in whatever weird fashion that might be."

"The choice you never had," Sam whispered.

Dean looked away, shaking his head. "That's what you _still_ don't get, Sammy. Even after everything you've seen. You're so busy trying to blame Dad for everything, that you've never stopped to look at the truth. I _chose_ this. That night Dad put you in my arms, I made a choice. Every step we've taken from that moment, I've made my choices along the way. Yes, Dad encouraged them. He forced something on me that I didn't deserve, but I could have rejected it. I could have refused to shoulder it, but I didn't. I chose to accept it, because if I hadn't, where would we be? Where would _you_ be?"

Sam heard his father's voice from his dream echo in his head. '_When the time comes, he'll do the right thing. He always does._' "How do you do it?" Sam asked, feeling the wetness on his cheeks, but refusing to wipe them off. "How did you keep making those choices?"

"I couldn't have, not without you. I needed a purpose, Sammy, something more than petty revenge. And you gave me that. I owe you everything... I owe you my life. You saw what happened with the Djinn? What I became without that purpose? Those memories were pretty one sided, and you missed the bigger picture. For everything you took from me, you gave it back ten fold without ever realizing it. You're my strength, but you're also my biggest weakness. I can't say no to you, but I've also rarely asked for anything from you. Now, Sammy, I'm asking. Let me go, and trust yourself."

"I can't, Dean."

"Then trust _me_, Sam, just this last time. Trust that I'm watching out for you in my own way," Dean requested, reaching out and grabbing his brother into a tight hug. "Can you trust me, Sammy?"

"Always, Dean," Sam whispered miserably, knowing the truth of it. However else their life played out, that one truth was his only constant. He grabbed at his brother, trying to keep him with him, knowing that in the end, it wouldn't matter. No matter how hard he fought, how hard he held on, Dean was going to slip through his fingers. The knowledge didn't deter his determination to save his brother. Dean was _not_ going to rot in hell just to give Sam his legs. "I'm sorry, Dean," Sam apologized.

Dean nodded, as always somehow hearing his brother's unspoken thoughts, and Sam felt the sad smile on his lips. "It's okay, Sammy. I understand."

They stood like that for only a moment more before Dean pulled away, making eye contact with his brother, needing to know that Sam was okay, at least in this moment. No, Sam would never let him go, but he could handle that. He had no way to make this easier on his brother, except to let him fight for it, fight to change an outcome neither of them could beat.

Nodding, his choice once again made, Dean turned back to his baby. He waited until he felt Sam moving back toward the house before he called out. "Hey Sam?"

Sam looked back, seeing that spark of mischief in his brothers eyes and the signature grin that could charm anything with a heartbeat that always let him know everything would be alright. "Yeah?"

"Dude, you totally just used up a year's worth of chick flick moments."

And, after all was said and done, Sam realized that as much as there was still for him to learn about his brother, the basic truths he'd always known would never change. Dean would always be there for him, would always do what was right, would always be Sam's link to safety, and Dean would always be loving, selfless, childish, snarky, too clever by half, over protective, bad ass, unchanging, Dean. He couldn't help it.

Sam laughed.


	15. Epilogue

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Epilogue

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Rita sighed as she sorted the mail between the usual piles of bills. Life had been slow for the past months, as it tended to be in the winter. Faith was slowly recovering from the shock of having a murderer in their midst, from the loss of someone special, and she'd even managed to find a new waitress. It wasn't the first storm they had weathered together, merely the worst, and like all things, the rebuilding of cracked foundations would take time.

She had tracked events in the world as well as she could, always keeping an eye out for the Winchesters. There were stories of unusual events and mysterious deaths that seemed to stop after a black car had rolled through town, but she had never heard the name again, had never been able to find out if there were two riders in that car, or only one. Most times she hoped for two, but sometimes the look on Sam's face as he left would remind her that there was probably only one.

Coming across an envelope with no return address and a hastily scrawled address, she stopped. The post mark was from Nebraska. Curious, she opened it. Inside was a newspaper article and a small white note folded in half. She read the article first.

**SMALL TOWN OF FAITH SHOWS ITS TRUE COLORS.**

_Byline: Sam Ulrich._

_This reporter has seen a lot of things while on the road. Some so terrible it's hard to imagine, but sometimes, just sometimes, I get to see some things so wonderful it's hard to describe._

_A few months ago, a small town in South Dakota had it's own sense of community tested when a serial killer took up residence in their private Eden. Seven lives were lost horribly before the killer was caught, over a course of five years. Stumped, the police had no leads, no suspects, and were almost forced to abandon the case._

_The real story in this town, however, is the community that rallied together to protect each other, whether from egotistical city developers, or from serial killers intent on destroying their precious connections._

_I got to know a lot of the people there when my brother and I landed investigating the death of Marie Miller. Rita Delaware, the owner of the simply named Bed and Pub, is a spunky spit fire of a woman who's kindness can never be truly repaid. We were strangers passing through, as many do in the ranch lands, but were accepted as family from the moment we arrived to the moment we left._

_I was saddened to read of the death of one boy I had gotten to know quite well. Randy Holders died of CHD at the age of 14, shortly after we left. I happen to know that it was this remarkable boy who put together the serial killer's pattern, giving the tip to the police which allowed them the arrest. He was a boy who rarely dreamed, but when he did, he dreamed big. To the town of Faith, Randy lived and died a hero, and will be greatly missed by all the town's citizens, both permanent and temporary._

_I learned several valuable lessons while investigating this article. In times of crisis, people have a choice to either turn on each other, or come together as a community. I was privileged enough to watch the latter happen here, as each citizen supported the other. As an outsider, I was able to see what they took for granted, able to see the strength that held them together instead of tearing them apart._

_We're not all lucky enough to live in small towns like this, but we're all lucky enough to learn from them. In supporting each other, any great evil can be overcome. It is my hope that this town will grow with each other, and that it stands as a shinning example of the best the human race has to offer._

_To Randy, my young friend, I hope you rest in peace. I will miss you._

_To Rita, who stands as the town's protector, there are no words for you, for what you did. Thank you._

Rita wiped a tear from her cheek, scolding herself for being a sentimental old fool. She moved on to the folded white paper, her hands shaking with relief as the first words left no doubt who had written it.

"_Hey Old Woman._

_I thought you might appreciate a copy of Sam's article. Huh, not much of a writer, is he? But his heart is in the right place. Always is. We were very sorry to read about Randy's death, I hope Anne is okay. He was a great kid. Give my thanks again to Joe for the job, and sorry things got so messed up._

_I don't know much about what happened the last few days in Faith, it's all sort of a blur for me, and Sam doesn't talk about it much. But I get the feeling you helped ground him when he was feeling lost, and for that, you have not only my undying gratitude, but also the right to call on me as needed, for anything, anytime. No questions asked, I'll be there. Sam too._

_Sam aside, I owe you a thanks from me, as well. I won't go into detail, you know it anyway. Thank you, for all that and more. It's towns like yours that remind me what we do is worth doing (and I _know_ you've already guessed Sam's not a reporter... I mean, did you _read _that article? I actually had to bribe a newspaper to print it!). I needed that reminder, more than you'll ever know._

_I miss your pies, now that I have my appetite back._

_S&D._

_866-907-3235_

Rita chuckled. She hadn't gotten to know Dean very well, but she loved how healthy he sounded, even in writing. Tomorrow she would add the article and note to the scrapbook she had started months back. Dean was right, it wasn't the greatest writing, but it was full of heart, something she could clearly associate with Sam. Then it would be time to close it up for good, the final missing piece completing it's purpose. The boys were okay. Whatever else they did in life, she didn't really need to know more than that.

And maybe, just maybe, tomorrow she would change her Will and leave Dean her pie recipe.

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AN: Well, that's that. Okay, so I lied, one more AN, lol. Hope this ties up any loose ends and closes it nicely. It's about as close to a happy ending as I'm ever gonna get, lol. Thanks to you all for reading!


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